


For Want of a Spouse

by TheSmutFaries



Series: Bodice Rippers [4]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Minor Violence, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 53,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24199144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSmutFaries/pseuds/TheSmutFaries
Summary: A Regency AU no one asked for.  Ichabod is heir to the family estates and fortune... IF he can find a wife and have a child within the next year that is. Abbie just can't seem to find happiness with any of the eligible bachelors at court and her father is growing weary of her games while he struggles with the the imminent collapse of his business dealings. What happens when their needs intersect?
Relationships: Ichabod Crane/Abbie Mills
Series: Bodice Rippers [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1061405
Comments: 75
Kudos: 114





	1. The Cad and the Nice Guy

**Author's Note:**

> We didn't know how to word potential warnings in the tags. But rest assured we will give adequate warning on any chapter that has something. For what it's worth, we image Peter Capaldi as Uncle Bandy XD
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: mentions of death, men getting handsy without permission, emotional manipulation

For all intents and purposes, this should have been the happiest day of Abigail Mills' life. It was the day every young woman dreamt of, or rather the day that was imposed as most important upon them from a very young age. To be quite fair, neither Abigail nor her impassive faced groom would have preferred their situation. However, both were damn determined to make sure everyone at the wedding thought this was _not_ the day they had longed for.

The lovely bride, Abigail had the biggest smile she could muster on her face. The groom, Ichabod, simply stared straight ahead unblinking and possibly concentrating every synapsis of his brain on the seemingly impossible task of not getting sick upon the minister.

One would assume the sparse guests would have to be complete idiots to think either party wanted to be in their situation. However, Ichabod's uncle--who was once told by his late wife that he had the emotional fortitude of a peeled carrot--leaned towards the father of the bride and whispered, "She looks bloody terrified."

It was only when the minister asked if anyone objected that either had a change of expression. The change came when the bride's sister cleared her throat and stood. Both the bride and groom scowled and turned sharply to stare her down until she reclaimed her seat.

"Sorry," the sister said meekly. "I thought there was a mosquito…"

"Ichabod Crane," the minister stated. "Do you wholeheartedly and willfully enter into this union with Grace Abigail Mills?"

The groom blinked in disbelief for several seconds before giving a plaintive and hollow, "Yes." Quite simply put, he could have just as well been saying yes to having all his teeth pulled out. In fact, he would perhaps have considered having all of his teeth pulled far less painful than marrying a woman who didn't love him.

"Abigail Mills, do you wholeheartedly and willfully enter into this union with Ichabod Crane," the minister asked.

"Absolutely," Abigail replied, probably a little more high pitched than she intended. She had been aiming for cheerful and overjoyed, instead, she sounded terrified and overwhelmed. "Why wouldn't I? I adore Ichabod. I love him with all my heart. Why wouldn't I be anything other than willing to marry _him_?"

  
~*~  


_A few months earlier…_

Ichabod blinked at the urn his father's ashes were in. It had been a long time coming, to be fair. His father took ill quite easily, far too easily. And with the latest pandemic sweeping the nation, his father had succumbed quickly.

Mother had passed while Ichabod had yet been but a boy still in his spats. Cancer they called it. It had infected first her breast and then rapidly spread to her bones. It wasn't until it spread to her blood that she had grown too weary to live and succumbed. 

They had moved to America when mother took ill. And now Ichabod would be returning both of their ashes to Scotland. But first Ichabod had to pay a visit to London to learn the details of his inheritances.

Ichabod sighed when his uncle stepped up to his side. Uncle Bandy had come to America when Father had started taking ill too often to oversee their estates and Ichabod hadn't yet learned to do so. He hadn't left, even though Ichabod had since learned all the ins and outside of running their estates. He claimed it was because he had fallen in love with America. But Ichabod knew better. He remained because he knew his nephew had a history of being a naive little snot.

And if anyone was going to make sure Ichabod didn't squander his late brother's fortune and good name on some flouncy tart, well… his uncle Abednego "Bandy" Crane supposed it should be himself. He would see to the flouncy tarts personally. And not in the manner which one would suppose. For you see, Uncle Bandy was a bit of an asshole.

In the illustrious history of Scotland's most cantankerous and grumpy Scotsmen, Uncle Bandy would probably top the list. He had very little patience with anyone in general. And he found he had the least amount of patience for flouncy tarts.

“We all wish we weren’t here,” Abednego muttered lowly. 

Ichabod said nothing.

“Are we going to persist in this silence, nephew?” Abednego inhaled deeply to exhale slowly through his nose. “Why are you being a child?” 

Ichabod’s jaw tightened. “You drilled into me that silence is better than inane chatter. I have nothing to say at what you’ve said so far, so what do you wish me to say other than nothing?” 

Abednego cast his eye to the roiling grey sky above as if searching for strength but finding none. “We’re the last of the Cranes,” he said. 

Ichabod looks at his uncle with a frown. “And what of cousin Eustace?” he asked.

Abednego’s neck turned red just above his ascot. “He’s too young for this responsibility,” he stressed. "Your grandfather would say, 'Whatever happened to the good old days when a man and a woman got married and had kids because it was their duty? Where did all this nonsense of love and happiness come from?'" He shook his head. "Then he, an Oxford graduate, would add, 'You kids need to stop reading so much, its rotting your brains and giving you unrealistic expectations.'"

Ichabod cocked a brow at his uncle. "My father loved my mother dearly. I had hoped to have the same."

"I suppose they did, in their own ways," Abednego scoffed. "Don't worry though. A year is plenty of time to marry and have an heir. Unless you'd rather my son take hold of our family's carefully accumulated wealth? Is that what you want? A twelve-year-old to have everything?" He gestured wildly. "Squandering it all away on… sweets?"

Abednego clapped Ichabod on the back when he shook his head. "Come on, lad, let's get you home. Socials will have started by the time we return to London and you haven’t a party to waste."

With a heavy sigh, Ichabod walked to the waiting carriage. The prospect of putting himself out into society again made him want to run for the hills with a good book and a few fingers of scotch. He felt a rush of anger at Betsy and as soon as it came it was extinguished. As much as her hasty departure embarrassed him and his family, the relief of returning home to find it void of her was…

Indescribable. Surely he wasn’t supposed to feel that way about his own wife?

Ichabod wasn’t sure, but he supposed he would find out for sure this second go-round. He had three weeks - wind providing - to spit-shine his soul into something resembling an eligible bachelor. 

Deep down, Ichabod didn’t like his chances.

  
~*~  


“Should we be out here?” Abbie asked, laughing slightly as her glove was practically pulled from her hand as she stumbled over her hem to keep up. “Bram,” she yelped, trying her best not to spill the last of her champagne.

The music from the party dropped in volume as the large doors closed behind them, throwing an air of seclusion around them though she could just turn her head and see the dancing, laughing throng of society’s best fawning over themselves.

Abraham Van Brunt, or when they were alone, Bram, paused long enough for Abbie to catch up properly. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to get out of there,” he said, pressing a kiss to the material over her knuckle before he continued to tug her forward. 

The garden was lit with ornate oil lamps at every good interval, and eventually, Bram dragged Abbie to a bench that sat enough away to see the Van Brunt estate and anyone coming close while cloaking them in the flickering light. Bram eased Abbie to the bench and immediately doused the lights over them by half before joining her. 

Abbie laughed, sipping her champagne and shaking her head. “We shouldn’t be here alone,” she teased. "What would people think of me?”

Bram takes the glass from her hand and swallows down the last of the liquid, just a bit more than a swallow. “We’re practically engaged,” he said indulgently. “It’s _expected_. Amongst other things…"

He leered wickedly and pulled her to him. Abbie gasped then turned her head away as he tried to steal a kiss. "What other sort of things?"

He nipped at her jaw. "Such as getting started on our family," he murmured. Abbie couldn't help but smile at the thought. "I plan to make a proper woman of you… have you pursuing proper, feminine activities. None of that silly political nonsense. You'll be too busy raising our handsome boys."

Abbie's smile faded. "Oh," she said flatly. She shook her head to clear it and put her hands to Bram's chest. "I really do think we shouldn't be out here…" She pushed against him gently at first but when he continued to kiss down her neck and tighten his hold on her body, she put all her strength behind it.

Bram nearly toppled off the bench but laughed it off. He obviously had just been seated too close to the edge. There was no way the tiny woman next to him had been strong enough to push him _that_ hard. "Well it's a good thing you no longer have to think for yourself. Now come on, give us a kiss."

"Bram!" Abbie groused, throwing her hands up to block his intentions. He gave her an incredulous look. "We may be _practically_ engaged but we're not _actually_ engaged yet… even if we were we still wouldn't be married. This isn't proper."

"Since when do you care about propriety," Bram scoffed. He yanked her bodily into his lap. Abbie yelped in surprise. "We can seal our engagement properly so no one will doubt you belong to me."

"Urgh," Abbie groaned. Three months and he was just now showing his true colors. And what horrible and disgusting colors they were! "I don't think an engagement is in our future Mister Van Brunt."

"I don't think you have a say at this point," he grinned. Abbie fought against him hold, trying to break free. "Fight all you please. Makes it all the more satisfying when I get my way."

"Now see here!" Abbie barked. She was fortunate to be in such a position that she was able to bring her knee to his nethers with much more force than he was prepared to take. When he groaned in pain, his hold relented enough that she was able to then connect her elbow to his face and then the back of his head.

Abbie wriggled away as he toppled to the ground. "How is that for having some fight," she huffed, fixing a curl that had broken free. "I will not approve of your engagement request, Mister Van Brunt. Good Day."

She dropped a quick curtsey then hurried back towards the house. It was only once she reached the door that her entire body processed what had transpired and began to tremble with fear. Abbie found she wasn't in the mood to face Society just yet and veered off to the left, going to the peaceful tranquility of the elaborate fountain in another part of the garden.

A part that was well lit and staff members milled about. At least until they spotted her and drifted back inside. It was just as well. She would prefer to be alone anyway. Abbie pulled a kerchief from between her breasts and dabbed lightly at her eyes. She sighed heavily as she recounted the last few months. 

Bram had never once mentioned disliking her reading or political endeavors. In fact he had always smiled when she talked about the news on who was preparing to take the offices by storm. More than once he had even said it was cu-- _oh_. Now that she thought about it, describing her love of politics as _cute_ should have been her first clue.

She supposed it was better to find out now rather than after they had gotten married…

"Abbie?"

She jumped slightly at the voice but she relaxed as soon as her friend Andrew seemed to materialize from the shadows. Giving him a forced smile, Abbie greeted, "Andrew, you startled me."

He studied her for a moment. "Are you alright? Why are you crying?"

Abbie shook her head and shoved the kerchief back between her breasts. "I'm not crying." Andrew grinned and sat down next to her. "Okay, maybe a little…" She made a frustrated sound. "That Abraham Van Brunt… is nothing more than a pretty scoundrel. He was so polite that he had fooled both me and my father…"

Andrew put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her gently. Abbie sighed and kept her back rigid. "Don't worry about anything Abbie. You know I'm always here for you."

She twisted her skirt in her fists, full of nervous energy, wishing he would unhand her. Abbie shook her head and sighed. For most of her life she had been able to confide in Andy. But now words hitched in her throat, unable to leave her lips, from fear of some new betrayal. 

“What am I going to do, Andy?” Abbie finally asked mournfully. 

He nodded nervously. “I shall, but with a question of my own, if I may?”

Abbie looked at him curiously. “A rare question from Mister Brooks? Please, by all means,” she said briskly. 

“What’s so wrong with me that you haven’t considered me a prospect?” Andy asked. 

Abbie sputtered briefly as her heart stammered fearfully. “What? A prospect? But you never - ”

No, that wasn’t true. Abbie had known for years her oldest friend had had feelings for her. There had been a time she had considered him. But, alas, he was honestly none better than the others. 

“Have I done something? Said something? Have I _not_ done or said something? Tell me how to win your heart and I will do it,” he all but pleaded. 

Abbie’s shoulders slumped and she released her breath audibly through her nose as if deflating. “Andy…” Tears began to fill her eyes as she recalled realizing she felt nothing more than sisterly affection him. 

“No, Abigail. Take me seriously,” he said firmly.

Abbie straightened as Andy stalked off down the darkened path back to the garden, her heart in her stomach. She hadn’t meant for this to happen, and without another thought she gathered her skirts and ran after him. Perhaps she was being overly dramatic. He deserved to know the truth, did he not. 

_I don't love you, Andy. I could never feel that way about you. Not after my accident_

“Andrew,” she called as she trotted down the trail, almost back to where she had been with Bram, who was nowhere to be found. Probably slunk back to the party to lick his wounds or worse…

Tell her father.

Abbie rushed around another hedge corner and found Andy on a bench with his head in his hands, braced against his knees. She took off her shoes and came to sit next to him on the bench, trying to control her breathing. Even though she didn’t actually _need_ a corset, somehow she’d been talked into wearing one tonight.

Oh yes, because Bram thought it made her look sensational.

Abbie pressed against the side of her bodice and winced. “You know I hate running in these shoes,” she tried lightly, but Andy didn’t look up at her attempt at a quip. “Andy… Andrew,” she corrected herself, “I’m sorry.”

He finally looked up at her. “What are you sorry for?” 

Abbie scrambled for a reason that wouldn’t make her seem even worse. “I’m sorry for not… for not considering you as a prospective suitor. It’s not that you’re not eligible, or handsome,” she said as she moved closer to reach up and brush a bit of fringe back from Andy’s forehead. “And considering we have spent many an afternoon in deep conversation I’m sure you know I find you interesting and intelligent as well.”

“Then what is it, Abbie? Why haven’t you looked my way?” 

In the lamplight, Andy’s eyes are large and velvet brown, and even though Abbie has and does consider him to be handsome even, the rush of emotion she feels beneath her breast is not one of lust or even the forbidden flare of sexual curiosity. It’s just…a certain fondness of the friendly sort.

And strangely, almost familiar somehow.

“Andy, when have you ever told me you thought of me in that way?” she asked. “You never said… I never thought… I've only ever thought of you like a brother.”

Abbie opens her mouth to find something to salvage this night and perhaps their precarious friendship when Andy grasped her around the waist and pulled her toward him and gave her a long, deep kiss.

It was _entirely_ unwelcome.

But he explored her mouth with a meekness that made Abbie want to pull back and so she did. “Andy,” she gasped, scandalous as he continued to kiss across her cheek and down her neck. Her body betrayed her as he immediately found the sensitive spot just at the join of her neck and shoulder and where she was attempting to push him away Abbie bared her neck more momentarily.

“What are - oh my god,” Abbie groaned as she felt the scrape of teeth against her skin. If she didn’t stop this he would mark her.

She didn’t want that.

She didn’t want _him_.

Abbie half rolled off the bench in an effort to get away, breathing heavily and feeling emotions that had no business being experienced at the same time. “I told you to _stop, Andrew_ ,” she said sternly. Damn it all, what was with these men tonight? And on the one night she had misplaced her favorite fan with a pin knife tucked into its base!

“I can’t sleep,” he admitted as he yanked her back to him. “There is no relief save you - don’t you understand? I can’t live without you and the longer you deny me the more pain I am in. Please, I cannot concentrate, I cannot eat," Andy said harshly. "So you have any idea what you do to people? Everyone would love to have the favor of the beautiful Grace Abigail Mills…"

“Andy, you’re hurting me,” Abbie whimpered as he attempted to crush her against him. 

"I will tell everyone that your accident on Crane Hill wasn't a riding accident," Andy growled. "I will tell them you and I had a liason."

"No one would ever believe you," Abbie snapped in response.

"Everyone knows how you get when you've had a bit of drink. They'd believe it,” he said, his voice muffled against her chest. “I swear if you leave me I will end my life. I will fall upon my family’s sword rather than face the ill mockery life would be without you as my wife. I am not whole without you!”

If it had been anyone other than Andy, other than the person who was supposed to be her oldest and dearest friend - she would have told them to get the damn sword, and that she would hold it steady for them as they fell upon it to their heart's content. 

But even as her future crumbled before her like ash, Abbie couldn’t bring herself to push those words past her lips. “Marriage isn’t supposed to be about torture and suffering,” she said as she forced herself to touch Andy’s cheek, suppressing a shudder when he leaned into her touch. If she had to remain in this position for much longer she thought she might begin to scream and never stop. Even with the deranged look in his eye, Abbie could still feel the heavy ridge of his manhood beneath where she was forced to sit. “Andy, please let me go. If you leave marks people will have questions. Questions I don’t want to have to answer.”

Andy sighed deeply and loosened his grip just enough for him to lean back and search her face. “We’re made for each other, Abigail,” he whispered. “When will you see it?" 

Abbie willed her hands not to shake. “I have to talk to my father,” she said quietly.

“I should do it,” Andy said. “He will need to respect me as your future husband and not as the child that used to sit in his parlor.”

“No,” she said quickly. 

“Then why not together? Surely your father will see this is the best outcome he could’ve hoped for; my family is reputable and my holdings are vast. Is the great Ezra Mills’ daughter too above someone as common as me?"

Abbie shook her head. "Absolutely not. Let me tell my father straight away to be expecting your proposal in the morning…"

"Let me do it," Andy said desperately. "I will tell your father…"

"You know that wouldn't be prudent, Andy," Abbie said gently. "He would never approve. He has to hear it from me for him to be amenable."

"Let me come with you," Andy insisted.

It took everything within Abbie's power to not cringe. She had no intention of telling her father anything other than she refused to receive any social calls from Andrew ever again. However, if she denied Andy his current request, she feared he may become violent.

Against her better judgment, she leaned forward and kissed him long enough to slip out of his grasp. “Tomorrow,” she whispered against his mouth and grabbed her shoes from where she dropped them before she fled as fast as she could.


	2. The Assassin's Hitlist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings this chapter as far as we can tell.

Ezra Mills considered himself an intelligent man.

One had to be in his business. 

He had started his importing company with the combination of being in the right place at the right time and a small inheritance from a wealthy Aunt. Imports were not an easy career to get into. Similarly, it was just as easy to go under.

He hung his head as he tried to process what the letter in his hands said. 

_Three shipments. Gone. In a week's time_.

He knew things were getting bad on the trade routes with pirates but this was just ridiculous! What could pirates want with three shipments of silks and high-end fabrics?

Although to be fair, they had probably been targeting other bounties on the ships and his fabrics just got caught in the crossfire. This latest atrocity brought his total losses to twelve shipments over the year.

He could have survived one lost shipment. Perhaps even three spread out over the year. But three in less than seven days? Twelve in the whole year? Even if the extra insurance reimbursed him, the money would still not be in his hands quick enough to deal with his other failed endeavors. He was still waiting on payouts from the shipments he lost in February!

"What is it, dearest?" 

His darling wife, Lori, who had somehow found the strength to come down the stairs this morning, gave him a sweet smile. He dared not tell her just yet from fear she would go into a faint. He was thankfully spared for a moment when his eldest daughter bound down the stairs. Despite being the eldest of their daughters, Abbie remained unmarried. Mostly because their youngest had decided to elope with the chief inspector's son, therefore causing their family public embarrassment. 

It wasn't that they didn't like the chief inspector's son--he was kind and treated Jennifer with respect. It's just a man such as Ezra had to make sure his daughters married _up_. It was to make sure they were well taken care of and that Lori would be cared for when he inevitably died from the stress of his importing endeavors. The chief inspector didn't have any notable holdings and his son was a career soldier. And not an important ranking soldier, just a field medic! Ezra had been teased about it for months!

"Good morning Mama," Abbie greeted, giving her mother a kiss on the cheek. "You're looking in fine energy this morning." Abbie bobbed her head politely toward him. "Good morning Papa."

Ezra folded the letter closed and set it down on the table. "Van Brunt and his father withdrew their proposal for marriage this morning," Ezra said with disapproval. "Do you mind telling me what happened?"

Abbie sniffed and hmphed softly. “Where is Danielle?” she asked, glancing about the room. “I called for her this morning and she never appeared, which is very unusual for her.”

Ezra’s mouth settled into a flat line as Lori’s eyes widened and looked to him. “Danielle has taken leave. Sick relatives in Scotland,” he said from behind his papers. One of many lies he had to tell his family as of late.

“Oh! I hope they’ll be okay. I guess I can make my own tea, I have two working hands,” Abbie joked as she set to making herself a cup of tea. 

“Don’t think we don’t notice you changing the subject. What of Abraham?” Lori asked.

Abbie hesitated before she poured the steaming water into her cup. "The match was not as suitable as we first thought," she replied nonchalantly. 

"This is the _fourth_ broken engagement, Abigail," Lori said mournfully. "At your age surely you realize your pool is growing shallow. You’re almost _thirty_ , Abbie.”

Abbie tried not to chew the inside of her cheek too hard. “Of course, mother. You’ve only mentioned so every other time we see each other.” She grabbed a couple of scones and placed them on her plate.

Ezra felt his heart fall when his wife began to fan herself with her dainty lace fan and she sniffled dramatically. "We just want to see you settled with a husband with a good name," Lori all but wailed.

Abbie bristled. "Is it my fault Abraham Van Brunt wants to use his wife as nothing more than a baby factory? And that he sees it fit to _practice_ before there is even a formal engagement announcement? And he did not take it lightly when I informed him I had no intention of practicing early!"

Lori gasped, scandalized as she clutched her fan to her chest. "The nerve of that boy! After all the kindness we've shown him?"

Ezra chuckled. "I don’t think Mister Van Brunt considered our _kindness_ when he attempted to claim Abbie may have ended the family line by causing injury to his son."

Lori reached over and delicately patted Abbie's hand. "Much deserved if he tried to make a sport of our daughter."

Abbie covered her mouth with a napkin to hide her mirth. "I will find a husband, father. I promise."

Ezra cleared his throat. "You may already have. Mister Brooks sent a proposal over this morning," he said carefully. "Is there anything you want to tell me, Abbie?"

Abbie stared at him, swallowing hard. "No," she said, her voice quivering. "Please refrain from responding." She put down her napkin and plastered on the smile she reserved for when she thought she was fooling someone. "I've suddenly remembered Katrina is going to call upon me this morning. Please excuse me while I go prepare."

Without waiting for dismissal, Abbie slipped from her seat and breezed back up the stairs. She left her tea and scones untouched. Lori frowned and shook her head. "I've told you time and again, Ezra. I do not like that Brooks boy and I do not like him coming around our Abbie." She visibly shivered. "Just something about him…"

He looked up to see Lori take the ivory-colored envelope and she tore it in multiple pieces. “And that’s that,” she said primly.

Ezra took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I suppose it is.”

  
~*~  


Ichabod squirmed as the tailor took his measurements. He had all but forgotten how irritatingly tedious attending seasonal events could be. When he was younger, it had been the highlight of his year. He remembered insisting he needed a different suit for each party. Each one was more extravagant than the one before.

But when one was nearly thirty years on, having only two or three suits and a variety of coordinated ascots and waistcoats was essentially the same thing. At least in America, it was. Apparently, in London, one still had to have a different suit for each individual event, ergo he was on his sixth suit fitting this week trying to get everything for the remaining season prepared.

He had already been to two such events. One of them the very day they arrived in London. He hadn't been able to impress anyone because he had opted to linger in a corner, sipping champagne, rather than mingle. There had been one young woman at both that he had debated introducing himself to, but she had been on the arm of a man he was fairly certain would beat him to a pulp for daring to ask.

Ichabod heard a laugh and his eyes traveled to the window where his young cousin, Eustace was engrossed in a book. Or rather was pretending to be. Ichabod hadn't missed the glance that lowered to the book immediately. "You have this to look forward to in a few years so don't laugh," Ichabod intoned.

"I'd rather die," Eustace said dryly.

Had it not been for the boy's lightly browned skin, Ichabod would have thought he was being addressed by his uncle as a boy. Eustace had the same pragmatic attitude and eternally scowling face as Uncle Bandy. He could hardly believe this was the lad Abednego Crane feared would squander the family wealth on sweets.

"Is that an option?" Ichabod asked. "I'd gladly take it."

That's when the boy smiled, eyes glimmering mischievously. It was that moment, Ichabod could see the glorious, non-Crane shine through. He closed his book and sat up properly. "If it's a source of irritation, then why do it, Cousin?"

"Because we must find suitable wives," Ichabod said. "And to do that we must first torture ourselves. But rest assured whatever torment we undergo for these parties, what the ladies go through is at least tenfold."

Eustace huffed with indignation. "What if I don't want a wife?"

"That's why I must find one," Ichabod stated. "That way you can concentrate on fun things such as books."

"Unless of course, he fails. And then it'll be up to you to carry the Crane name, son."

Both Eustace and Ichabod looked toward the door as Bandy strode in. He stopped and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. "Euie, why not go pester the cook for some cake whilst I speak to your cousin?"

Eustace exchanged a bemused look with Ichabod then hopped off of his reading nook. "Okay, Papa." The boy scurried out of the room, in search of his prize.

Ichabod had never really seen his uncle interact with his son prior to their arrival. One thing that stood out was that, despite still sounding cantankerous, there was always a softness in Bandy's tone when he addressed the boy. Bandy strode over once the tailor stepped out of the way. He straightened Ichabod's cravat with a scowl. "We haven't the luxury of getting the house ready for a party of our own so you'll have to impress one of the lasses elsewhere," Bandy grumbled. "So you've got to look our best."

Ichabod sighed with irritation. "I know."

"Do ya? Do ya really lad?" Bandy asked briskly. "Cause you're looking quite sloppy at the moment." He clicked his fingers at the tailor. "Aye, you there. Clinch in these trousers for a closer fit. Give the ladies something to feast their eyes on. If there's one thing we Crane's are famous at court for it's being _impressively endowed_. We got to flaunt every asset we can."

The tailor cast a glance at Ichabod. Ichabod shook his head. "Uncle, I do wish to be able to sit down at the party," Ichabod reminded.

"If you're sitting you're not winning any hearts," Bandy pointed out. "You need to be on at least six dance cards. I got some names for you to look out for, make sure you have a dance with them… Mary Jane Wells, Grace Abigail Mills, Zoe Anne Corinth, Katrina Van Tassel. 

"They should all be at the one tomorrow night. They're the most eligible ladies at court right now. A bit older, but that's a good thing for us. Think you can manage that at least? If not, we'll have to aim for someone younger. If we aim younger we run the risk of the same thing with Elizabeth happening." He shook his head. "And I'm too old to have to put up with another flouncy tart trying to sink her claws into the family fortune."

Ichabod nodded mutely.

"What are the names, lad?"

"Mary Jane Wells, Grace Abigail Mills, Zoe Anne Corinth, and..." 

"Why are you reciting it like it's a hit list for an assassin," his uncle said. He shrugged. "Although, to be fair, that is essentially what it is." He looked at the tailor. "I don't care what he says, I'm the one writing the cheque. Get to tailoring. And you, Ichabod, keep rolling those names around in your head. I know you don't forget things, but I want you to make sure you don't give yourself the option to do so."

Ichabod groaned as his uncle moved away. The tailor scurried up to make the adjustments his uncle had specified. He could definitely empathize with his cousin on preferring death.

"Who's the last one?" Bandy asked.

  
~*~  


“Katrina Van Tassel, get your hand off my dress!”

The willowy red-head had the grace to deter her hand’s approach to double back and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “What are you talking about, Abbie?” she asks innocently as she turns around. “I would never!”

“Unless you thought I was far enough away to get away with it,” Abbie teased as she put the tray of refreshments she carried on the table across from the sewing mannequin that held Katrina’s attention. On it was the almost completed dress Abbie planned to wear at the ball next week hosted at the Corinth Estate, and was always one of the larger parties of the season. 

“You’re outdoing yourself, Abbie,” Katrina said admiringly. “Though I think you should drop the neckline just a little. Nothing wrong with a bit of advertisement,” she said as she accepted the cup of tea Abbie held out for her. “Where’s Danielle?” 

Abbie’s smile tightened. “She was called away by sick relatives,” she said, parroting her father’s lie. “Besides, I have two hands and can fetch our tea.”

Katrina pretends to be vaguely impressed as she sipped her tea. “I couldn’t tell you where to find the kettle in my home,” she admitted. 

“Why does that not surprise me.” Abbie put her cup down and fell into a graceless heap on her sitting couch. “So, what news from Paris?”

Katrina sighed happily. “I love Zoe, I do but she’s not you,” she said as she sat next to Abbie. “Why didn’t you come?”

“Mother wanted me to support local talent this year and she did mention that the last time we went to Paris I came back with more dresses than I actually wore. I ended up giving ten away,” Abbie said.

“So why are you making your own?” Katrina pointed out.

“Because we have, what, four events left this season? It’s imperative I get another engagement prospect as quickly as possible.”

“Oh?” Katrina’s face was a study in nonchalance. “What... happened to Bram?”

“Bram, the ass?” Abbie asked coolly. “He decided to press his luck and so I _pressed_ my knee against his groin and now his father is under the impression I’ve ended the entire Van Brunt line. I say good riddance.”

Katrina laughed and snagged a warm, ginger cookie. “So you called it off?” she asked. 

“Of course I did!”

Katrina chuckled softly and shook her head. “You went on and on how glad you were that Bram came through in the end and you just gave him up because he wanted to get his hands on your delectable body? Can you blame him?” She flexed her fingers and reached for Abbie’s waist for a tickle.

Katrina’s words hit Abbie like cold water down her spine, and Abbie shivered as she swatted away Katrina’s hands, then jumped up to cross the room to her dress, pinning a bit of the bodice to cover her sudden reaction. “You know how impulsive I can be,” she said strangely, rapidly moving pins around. “There,” she said as she turned back to Katrina. “How’s that?”

Katrina looked to where Abbie had indeed lowered the neckline by a respectable half an inch and she nodded in approval rather than call her best friend out on such strange behavior. If Abbie’s days are half spent with her own father reiterating how important the close of this season was, she was due to be a little stressed. 

“I think we should concentrate on having fun,” Katrina proclaimed. “Who cares that we’re a few short years away from spinsterhood?”

Abbie’s shoulders dropped. “Our families, our friends… society at large… And face it,” she said as Katrina came to stand beside her, “you want companionship, don’t you?”

Katrina looked down at her friend and tried not to express the deep well of sadness that seemed to be intent on bursting from her. "I don’t think life, my family, our friends, or society really cares for what I want,” she said softly. 

Abbie frowned momentarily when she caught a glimpse of Katrina’s melancholy. “Didn’t you know, I have the gift of prophecy,” she said primly. She leaned into Katrina’s side, Katrina put an arm around her shoulders, hugging her close.

Katrina’s wistful melange of emotion broke and she grinned. “Do you, now?” she asked.

Abbie nodded, nose raised haughtily. “I see that before the year concludes we will both have husbands and live in our own fancy houses and we’ll see each other every weekend if we wanted.”

Katrina smiled as she reached out to touch the edge of the dress sleeve. “We’ll see,” she said. “Oh! I had forgotten - I ran into Andy when I got home yesterday. I saw him in the square; is it me or has he…” Katrina rolled her shoulders and brushed a hand along Abbie’s shoulder. “He’s changed.”

Abbie stabbed the mannequin with another needle. “Yes, he has,” she muttered. 

“He asked about you,” Katrina prattled on.

“Did you tell him you would see me today?” she asked.

“Was it a secret?” 

Abbie took a deep breath and released it. “No,” she said. “I’m just… I’ve found my friendship with Andrew has run its course.”

Katrina’s eyes widened. “You’re fighting?” she asked gleefully. “I haven’t seen the two of you fight in years,” she crowed.

“And this time is the last,” Abbie said. 

Katrina’s smile faded. “You’re serious,” she said.

“Whatever gave you that impression? Is it the seriousness of my mood or the finality of my tone?” Abbie snapped.

“Okay,” Katrina said quietly. 

“I’m sorry,” Abbie said, reaching for her hand. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Katrina twined their fingers together as she stared into Abbie’s face. “What happened?” she asked.

Abbie shook her head, eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears. “Nothing I wish to talk about.”

Katrina was now truly alarmed. “Perhaps you should; Abbie you’re crying!” She reached out to touch her cheek and caught the tear as it fell. “You never cry without good reason.”

Abbie shook her head again. “I can’t,” she whispered.

Next Abbie knew, Katrina's arms were around her and she was hugging Abbie to her breast. "I always knew that Andrew was an unsavory sort. Do not worry, my dear friend, we will make certain he isn't welcome at any--"

Abbie pulled back. "No… no no… we can't." She shook her head. Abbie could feel tears building again. "I don't want to risk his trying to ruin my reputation out of spite."

Katrina sniffed prettily. "Well, I will most certainly be retracting my RSVP to his party. Or better yet, we can just not show!"

"Unless you can find me a marriage proposal between now and then, I _have_ to go. I can't miss a single one just in case a _handsome stranger_ that just happens to be wealthy and looking for a wife is there." Abbie tried to smile, but evidently it didn't work as Katrina hugged her again and kissed the top of her head.

"That settles it, I will be actively trying to find you a husband at every party," Katrina said with determination. "I don't have the pressure of time like you do." She took Abbie's face in her hands. "Although if I do become a spinster because of this, you must promise to keep me as your closest and dearest friend that has a room at your home at any time."

"You already have that," Abbie said, managing a half-hearted smile.

"Then let us find you the perfect husband."


	3. A Deal is Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two households, both alike in dignity, have two kids that won't fucking take this marriage thing seriously!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: vague hints at past child abuse. financial predicaments.

Ezra could feel the press of the letter against his shirt like a weight and it pushed down against him more and more the closer he came to the bank. When the messenger had arrived that morning with the request, he couldn’t help but think, _No good could come of this_. He had tried to put it off until next week, but the messenger _insisted_ they speak to him today. So, Ezra had told them he would be in after lunch.

He couldn’t remember the last time he was asked to come down to the bank; normally it was Ezra who would arrive to speak with someone to have something straightened out. He couldn’t help but feel it was _he_ who would be straightened out this time.

No, this wasn’t your run of the mill inconvenience - this was a brand new type of unpleasantness. He could feel it in his gut. It didn’t appear his luck would be changing any time soon.

He knew if Lori's parents were alive they would want her to divorce him for this financial mishap. Further unfortunate circumstances, Lori's eldest brother had absconded the entire Roberts fortune to America so asking him for a loan wasn't an option. 

As much as he was loathed to think about, it may be time to unload some property, the only thing keeping him from being truly destitute. Surely a landowner or two that would enjoy taking some off his hands…

Ezra roused himself from the dark of his thoughts when the carriage jerked to a halt. While the footman came round to the door he used the scant seconds to gather himself and ensure he exited the carriage with his head held high, befitting his station. 

Once on the ground Ezra couldn’t help but glance up at the high columns in front of the bank; never before had it felt so… unsympathetically imposing. He swallowed a bit of bile back and forced himself to walk unhurriedly through the opened door. Evidence of his worry was that he was actually starting to debate pushing Abbie into an engagement with Andrew--for all his faults, he _was_ well connected and wealthy...

The lobby boy stepped up as Ezra glanced around. “Mister Mills,” he said with a quick bow. “How may we serve you?”

Ezra forced himself to smile personably. “I’m here to see Mister Abednego Crane,” he said. “He’s expecting me.”

The young man beamed brightly. "Of course, Mister Mills," he said. "Come with me please."

Ezra swallowed hard as he followed the young man to a long, narrow corridor. Or perhaps it wasn't narrow, perhaps his heart was finally succumbing to the stress of his situation. It seemed further down the corridor they moved, the dimmer the lighting became. Ezra half expected it to turn into a cave, fitted with ancient sconces and torches.

The door they were seeking was at the very end of the corridor; a solitary door set glaring all the way back down to the welcoming desk, which looked miles away. A sense of dread settled in Ezra stomach when the boy knocked upon the heavy oak door. _Abednego Crane_. Son of Nebuchadnezzar Crane, one of the most feared men at court back in the day. It was once said the departed Mister Crane had once shot a man for accidentally scuffing his shoe.

Some said he had been a pirate and that was how he had more than doubled his family’s wealth. Others had said it was by loaning out funds with strict guidelines for repayment, so that they were always repaid on time, because you were only ever late _once_ because of the penalties.

A curt voice came from the other side barely distinguishable through the door, “ _Enter_.”

The young man entered first. "Mister Ezra Mills to see you, sir."

There was a long silence. "Well are you just going to stand there like a frog on a log or bring him in, lad?"

"Sorry sir," the boy stammered, then stepped aside. He gave Ezra a polite bow of the head. "You may come in, sir."

Ezra wasn't sure what he had been expecting when he entered, but to enter and find an office that was in almost complete disarray was decidedly not it. Books lay open on almost every available surface, letters and forms were stacked a foot high on any vacant section of the desk. Every curtain was opened wide, letting as much light into the room as possible. The advisor, himself was upon a ladder, one arm full of ledgers as he climbed down.

Ezra leapt forward when his foot missed a rung. However, the man seemingly familiar with his situation, retained a firm hold and recovered easily before delicately continuing down. He nodded curtly at Ezra. "Thank you for at least attempting to help," he said dryly, setting the ledgers on top of the other books on his desk. He held his hand out. "Abednego Crane at your services."

Shaking his hand, Ezra smiled, "Ezra Mills at yours, Mister Crane."

"Have a seat please," the other man said, sweeping his hand toward a seat in front of the desk. "Call me Bandy, please." He took a seat behind the desk and rummaged through the clutter to find a pair of spectacles. Bandy carefully put them on and opened one of the ledgers he had retrieved. 

"Bandy,” Ezra nodded. “Let’s get down to business, please.Is there a particular reason it was requested that I come see you?" Ezra asked.

"As you already know, your loan request was denied." Bandy gave a half smile. "I'm who they send you to when they think you just need a little help getting your affairs in order to get back on track. I am the final warning before the bank takes action." He flipped idly through the ledger. "Ordinarily when someone comes to see me, their books are a mess, but not yours. For every shilling you pay out, you have a note saying what it's for, as well as a receipt. The issue is that it seems you've been having rapidly declining returns in your imports…"

Ezra felt his heart in his stomach. "This year, I've had several shipments destroyed by pirates in transit. I'm expecting to hear from my insurance any day now and that would absolve all my problems…"

"You use the Dutch ships?" Bandy asked, peering at him over the top of his specs. When Ezra nodded, he made a clicking sound with his tongue. "They've been targeted more often because of the, _cargo_ heading to America. If we can get this sorted, I can give you some better recommendations. They cost a little extra but are less likely to be targeted."

Judging by the disapproving tone, Ezra knew exactly what sort of cargo was causing the ships to be picked out. Bandy flipped a few more pages and pulled a face. "You said you were waiting for insurance?"

Ezra felt his blood run cold. The look, combined with the subtle inward whistle Bandy made, told him something was very wrong. Something he hadn't planned on. "Yes. I understand I've had several claims this year so they're probably wanting to do a _thorough_ investigation…"

"It's not that," Bandy said. "It's the company you list in your notes--Good Lord, you have their name, your account number, _and_ their address, most people don’t even know the _name_ of their insurance company.” Bandy grinned manically for a moment then cleared his throat and settled back into a serious demeanor. 

“Your company primarily insures the Dutch ships. As such, they've had so many claims in the past two years they've gone belly up." Bandy looked around cautiously and lowered his voice. "Now you didn't hear this from me but… you're not the first person we've had that is going through this. The company's investors are all consolidating their assets. They should have it all sorted by the end of the year. 

"You might be lucky to get at least half of your money if I breathe down their necks for you. That would be more than sufficient to start again. But you'll have to relinquish some of your own assets in the meantime." Bandy pointed to a line in the ledger. "You have a home in the country outside of Edinburgh. That might fetch a good price for you. Hell, to be honest I probably wouldn’t mind taking it off your hands personally. I’ve been debating getting a place of my own in Edinburgh..."

Ezra shook his head. "I can't sell that one. That estate is my daughter's dowry."

Suddenly Bandy's brow arched and he seemed to be piecing something together in his head. "Ezra Mills… You wouldn't by chance be Grace Abigail Mills' father, would you?"

"I am. Why do you ask?" How did this man know his daughter's name?

Bandy slowly smiled. It was a wickedly manic grin that somehow managed to make Ezra think the old man had something up his sleeve. "You look like you could use a drink, Mister Mills. Would you care to accompany me to the lounge across the street?"

Ezra blinked in surprise and briefly nodded. “That sounds good right about now,” he admitted.

Bandy was often a good judge of another man's character. He prided himself on being able to see through people's bullshit and get down to pure facts - it helped him do his job as well as he did. One; it was a fact Ezra Mills had been expecting a payout from the insurance. It was also a fact that he was a good man who was in danger of losing everything he had worked hard to build if something didn't work out quickly.

Then there was another set of facts to face: Ichabod had more money than sense, but needed a wife. 

Ezra needed a husband for his daughter and if he wanted a good, proper match for her it needed to be - preferably - before he lost everything. 

Bandy could see how those last two facts could be mutually beneficial to both himself and Ezra as they settled into one of the empty, private smoking rooms in Pandora's Box, a quaint little gentleman's lounge across from the bank. He ordered Scotch and both men waited in near companionable silence for their drinks.

Once the glasses sat before them, Bandy continued to wait until the servant retreated, closing the door behind him. He silently prayed he was doing the right thing and knocked back a good swallow of the harsh liquid for courage. 

"Mister Mills... I can call you Ezra, can't I?" 

Ezra smiled. “Of course, Abenego,” he chuckled. 

Bandy blanched. “Again, call me Bandy,” he said. "I am of the belief we both have certain issues. Issues that I feel we can resolve through mutually beneficial arrangements.”

Ezra sat back, swirling the alcohol in his glass, still having not taken a sip. “We?” he asked. “You know what my… _issue_ is,” he said, “but I don’t know yours. Nor do I know why you know my daughter’s name.”

Bandy couldn’t help but smile at the hard edge Ezra’s voice gained. “Fair enough; I shall speak plain. I -” 

Ezra held up a hand. "Before you continue. Let me just say, you _seem_ like a nice man. But I will not give you my daughter’s hand in marriage."

Bandy shook his head in surprise. "No, _not me_ ," he scoffed. "I'm not… I don’t do well with marriages. I do, however, have a... _nephew_ who is in line to inherit the family fortune. Just shy of 30. But he needs a wife and an heir within a year to get his inheritance."

At this, Ezra's brows arched with interest. "Your nephew,” he said slowly. 

Bandy shrugged indifferently. “Ichabod Crane.” He sat forward and finished his drink. “Shall I call for reinforcements?” He gestured to Ezra’s glass in hand. 

Ezra looked down and before he could scold himself, swallowed the contents down. “Yes,” he rasped. “If I am to contemplate what I feel we may be discussing.”

Bandy grinned as he pulled the tasseled cord that hung between their chairs. In under a minute a quick two knocks sounded at the door before it was opened to reveal two young men with a drinks trolley, the crystal decanters filled with various spirits to choose from.

At Bandy’s prompting, Ezra gestures to the cruet on the far left. “I’m feeling a bit partial to gin at the moment,” he said. 

“Good choice,” Bandy murmurs. “Leave the ewer,” he said blandly.

Ezra hid his smile as the young men quickly exited, leaving them alone again. “Ichabod Crane,” he said, knocking about his memory as he tried to locate a face to match the name.

“My brother took his family to the Americas some time ago. Ichabod wed and all seemed well from the letters I received. But Messy - we refused to call him Meshach whilst sober - always felt the need to hold the bitter back; I hadn’t known Lilian, his wife, had passed. 

“Hell, I didn’t know _he_ was ill until I received word from Ichabod. Last I had seen Mess he was chipper and loving life.” Bandy’s jaw worked as he stared into the middle distance. “I arrived to find my brother’s house in desperate need of leadership.”

“This is the man you wish to tie to my daughter?” Ezra asked, unable to keep the skepticism from his expression. 

Bandy laughed. “Ichabod is no fool. He is one of the most intelligent men I have ever met, but we both know that does not keep one from making mistakes.” He sighed and took a short swallow of his drink. “Women aren’t his strong suit. Shortly after Mess took ill, Ichabod lost his wife to a visiting Duke out of Sussex. I have dedicated myself to ensure Ichabod has a proper match this time.”

“With wealth such as his it must not be difficult,” Ezra said. 

“I don’t have to tell you that’s part of the problem. I have waded through what passes as eligible this season and despaired at the lack of options that I feel would be best for him.” Bandy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Not to mention he thinks sitting in a corner at come outs is socializing…”

Ezra nodded. “I can sympathize,” he muttered. “But you must understand my particular predicament. You seek a wife for your nephew, and I have no choice but to look at Abigail’s future as an investment in our family, I still love my daughter. I care for her happiness.”

Bandy could feel he was losing Ezra, and felt a flutter of desperation. “Understood,” he said. “And an investment that is both daring and well researched often has the highest return, does it not?” 

Ezra cocked his head. 

“Crane Holdings is always on the lookout to diversify its portfolio, particularly in the area of importing and exporting.”

_Ah_ , Ezra thought. “A threat?” he asked.

Bandy refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose again. “Ezra, if I wished to threaten you, would we be drinking and calling each other by our given names? No; I think I would’ve let you believe your insurance would cover your missing cargo, like I did with the other sots, and go about buying your debt for myself.” He sat back. “Am I doing any of those things?”

Ezra’s shoulders square. “No,” he admitted, his voice warmed with relief. “But I had to ask.”

“Fair enough. So what say you? Mills Shipping could use a _healthy_ influx of capital from an investor. Couldn’t it? Not only to make your clients whole but to pay for new security measures against theft. Promises don’t stymie pirates anymore than prayers heal the sick,” Bandy said. 

Bandy paused for a moment. "Your daughter was one of the few eligible maidens at court that I thought would be a good match for Ichabod. She's well-liked, has a stellar reputation… Not to mention she's not hard on the eyes. I'm actually flummoxed as to why she's not married yet."

"Again, true." Ezra yelled into the void internally. “As for her lack of a husband, I would join you in your flummox… My wife and I decided we would let her spouse be of her own choosing. Apparently none of the gentlemen have been able to meet her strict standards."

"Can't fault you for that decision," Bandy stated. "My late wife and I were in a marriage that was more of a _business_ contract. We loathed each other until the day she died. Had it not been for Nebuchadnezzar's butler having a kind and lovely daughter, I wouldn't have my own son…"

"So, I’m sure you agree that a decision such as this should be slept on, at least,” Ezra pointed out.

“Agreed,” Bandy conceded. “I can give you until the Corinth affair to think about it. I fear if we wait much longer than that, the bank may try to take action.”

One week. That was more than enough time for Ezra to find out if there was absolutely _anything_ he could do in order to keep Abbie’s future a reasonable choice of her own making. “We have an agreement,” he said, and held his hand out for Bandy to shake. The grip was surprisingly strong, and did not make Ezra want to draw back in revulsion. 

Bandy nodded and knocked back the rest of his drink as he rose. “It was a pleasure to meet you Erza. I enjoyed going over your ledgers; they were a work of art.”

Ezra nodded as the man left, and as soon as the door closed behind him he released a chuckle. If that was Ichabod’s uncle, he wondered how closely he resembled his nephew? Was he as awkward or was he suave? What kind of man was he?

And what kind of man was _he_ to be seriously entertaining this offer?

Desperate, Ezra acknowledged.

  
~*~  


Abbie could feel trepidation sneaking in. It was already hard enough to breathe but as their carriage got closer to the Corinth estate, the shortness of breath was becoming more from worry. What if she saw Andrew? What if he already started the wildfire to ruin her reputation? Surely he would have, given it had been almost a week since he had sent over his proposal.

Maybe she would be lucky. Maybe she wouldn't even see him. Maybe he wouldn't feel up to attending after all…

When the carriage drew to a halt, Abbie let the attendants help her out. The Corinth's always had such pretty and polite attendants. Rumor had it, it was because Mr Corinth had a certain _taste_ for pretty and polite young men. Tonight it was two dashing young men in cream suits, they could almost be twins! 

"Abigail!"

Abbie beamed at the source of the chorus of voices as she entered the fray. Katrina, Mary, and the hostess herself--Zoe--were flocked together near the statue of a nude man. Her friends waved her over and welcomed her into their gaggle without even a hesitant glance. 

That meant Andy hadn't started any rumors yet, at least.

Her friends greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. Abbie glanced around with trepidation. "Have any of you seen Andrew?"

"I'm afraid not darling," Mary said with a gentle pout. "But he does have that nasty habit of slithering in and out of shadows like the little snake he is." She made a small gesture with her hand to imitate a snake then shuddered. "Honestly I don't know how you and Katrina tolerate him."

"If it wasn't for Papa insisting, I wouldn't even invite him," Zoe huffed. 

They had grown up together, Abbie, Katrina, and Andrew. Their parents had London estates near each other. They'd had country estates near each other too. Abbie had been so soft hearted that she couldn't help but offer to befriend the poor boy that no one else wanted to mingle with. Katrina could empathize with him being an only child and would essentially do everything Abbie did.

Abbie lowered her voice. "He sent a proposal to my father. Out of _nowhere_. I've been avoiding him ever since."

"Very smart," Mary said with a decisive nod. "He didn't even ask your permission first?"

Zoe and Mary scoffed when Abbie shook her head negative. "He has been in love with you for some time," Katrina ventured delicately. "Perhaps you should… _try_ an engagement?"

"No.” Abbie caught Katrina’s aghast surprise and almost _ached_ to provide context but she just… couldn’t. Although it was evident Katrina suspected something untoward. “Daddy says the next time I get engaged he's going to rush the wedding so I don't have time to change my mind," Abbie sighed. 

“Where would he get such an idea?” Mary laughed. “You’ve only done it _four times_ ,” she joked. “Not like it’s a habit or anything.”

Abbie leveled an unimpressed glare in her direction as Zoe nudged her elbow in good fun. “How witty you’ve become since _your_ marriage,” she deadpanned. 

Mary opened her fan and preened pretentiously. “Why thank you,” she simpered before all four women laughed. “My plans to become a widow are coming along nicely. I expect to be a free woman within the fortnight.”

Abbie sighed happily. It felt good to laugh. “Besides,” she continued, “I have other reasons to not want to marry Andrew. None of which I am able to disclose, if I may be so indulged."

"Such a request requires no consideration," Mary rebutted sternly. "If he doesn't have the simple social grace to ask you first before asking your father for your hand, what other things would he do without permission?"

"You're right, of course, Mary," Katrina pouted softly. "I suppose we should all focus on finding Abbie the perfect husband tonight."

"I already have a few names on my dance card," Zoe said. "If I think they would be good, I'll send them to Mary."

"If I approve, they'll go to Katrina," Mary added.

"If they can tolerate me, you’ll _know_ it's destiny," Katrina beamed at Abbie. She lightly fanned her face as she fluttered her lashes at her friend.

"I honestly appreciate the dedication to finding me a husband," Abbie chuckled. This was what she had needed, to be honest - the love and support of her dearest friends. "But I can manage. Fill your cards with names for yourself."

“But my non-existent husband would object,” Mary said as Katrina pulled her away laughing, leaving just Abbie and Zoe.

“We missed you in Paris this year,” Zoe said as she snagged two flutes of champagne from a roving servant.

Abbie accepted the glass and sighed. “ _I_ missed Paris,” she admitted. 

“Why couldn’t you go?”

Abbie tightened her fan around her wrist. “You know my mother hasn’t been well as of late. I didn’t want to leave her. I also felt a little badly for breaking my engagement.”

“You feel badly for ringing Abraham’s bells?” Zoe asked. “If you ask me, he’s had it coming. And who better to bring it to him than Grace Abigail Mills?”

“No, I said I felt badly for breaking my engagement. I’d ring those bells again if needs must,” Abbie retorted before taking a drink. “I am beginning to worry about my parents. My mother is in and out of bed by doctor’s orders and my father is driven to distraction with his business. It doesn’t help that I am still unmarried at twenty and seven.”

“And I’m sure it doesn’t help that your younger sister is already married, either,” Zoe winced.

“Thanks, Zoe,” Abbie said, glowering at Zoe flatly. “It’s as if I haven’t heard for the last few years.”

“You know what I mean. Although I’m two years younger than you, my father is rather adamant I find someone _this_ season.” Zoe looked around and wrinkled her nose with discontent. "There is very little to be desired upon the field, but that isn’t something I have to tell _you_." She pulled a face. "Urgh. Andrew came after all."

Abbie felt her heart plummet into her belly and the burn of bile hit the back of her throat. She pulled out her fan and fanned herself rapidly, weaving gently. "Oh, bother, I think Mother may have cinched my stay too tight… I need to step out."

Zoe could only watch as Abbie hurried away - practically fled before Andrew spotted her. Zoe looked back just in time to see him break through the throngs of people to stare at the now empty spot beside her. “Mister Brooks,” she said. 

Andrew looked flushed but he nodded once at her. “Miss Corinth. Lovely party as always,” he said as he glanced around the room quickly. “I thought Abigail was in your company.”

Zoe’s smile remained localized to her mouth. “Earlier in the evening,” she said, which wasn’t a lie. “You just missed her. She wasn’t feeling well.”

“Perhaps she’s in the garden,” he muttered, more to himself than aloud. “If you’ll excuse me -”

Zoe rose and put her hand in his, startling him into stopping mid-stride. “ _Perhaps_ you’ll do me the honor of this dance?” she asked.

Andrew looked at her, clearly in shock. He shook his head and glanced around, aware that people were beginning to look. He relaxed and lifted her gloved hand to a breath before his mouth. “It would be my honor,” he said, and led her onto the dance floor.

_I hope you escaped, Abbie_ , Zoe thought as Andrew’s hand gripped hers tightly. _Because you owe me_.

  
~*~  


As Abbie’s feet hit the landing she strained to hear sounds of movement and quiet conversation, but she heard none. Emboldened she continued down the hall and for good measure took the servants stairs instead of the main that would allow her to enter the kitchen rather than the dining room.

It wasn't the first time she had attempted to sneak home early in the morning, before her parents awoke… Normally Danielle would cover up for her if they suspected anything or would waylay her parents so she could sneak to her room. 

Abbie opened the kitchen door and nearly screamed.

“Father,” she managed to stutter out. “You gave me quite a fright.”

Ezra stirred his tea slowly, merely looking at his daughter. “Can’t imagine why,” he said flatly as he continued to move his spoon about.

Abbie winced at the scrape of the utensil against the cup, purposefully avoiding her father’s gaze. “How does this morning find you?” she asked as she poured herself a bit of tea.

“It is a fine morning,” he said. “I expected you to have a bit of a lie in, considering last night’s festivities.”

Abbie paused, her hand outstretched for the egg cup that sat on the counter. “I managed to curb my drinking,” she said hastily, grabbing the egg and placing it on a tray next to her tea. “How goes the search for new staff? I don’t mind boiling my own egg but I am unable to make bread to save my life,” she tried to joke.

“I will admit it has slipped my mind,” Ezra said. “I’ve been a bit… preoccupied.”

Abbie took a few cubes of cheese and nodded graciously. “You have a lot on your mind, of course,” she murmurs. 

“Yes, such as this.”

Abbie looked up to see her father holding an envelope. “What is that?” she asked warily. Surely Andy wouldn’t… 

“A missive from Burton & Fisher telling me that they hope the items you purchased are still to your liking, and that since we are customers of such high esteem, they will request recompense from the bank directly, and there is no need to worry myself with the details of sending payment ‘round. Whatever do they mean, Grace Abigail?”

Abbie crumpled internally. _Not the accursed Grace Abigail_. Papa only called her Grace Abigail if she was in trouble.

“It was nothing,” she said, suddenly and irrationally feeling defensive. “I went out with Katrina and-”

Ezra rolled his eyes as he put his cup down. “Say no more,” he interrupted. “When the two of you get together there isn’t a pence safe, _is there_?”

Abbie was taken aback. She had never considered her shopping to be a problem; usually she fancied her own creations over what she saw in the fashion houses and boutiques. Nevermind she could barely remember the last time she actually _went_ shopping this season or the previous! “I needed gloves, father,” she said tightly. “...amongst other things. It was not the frivolous outing you’ve contemplated. You’ve tasked me with finding a husband and I couldn’t very well attend one of the biggest events of the season _in last year’s gloves and shawl_! It was Zoe’s come out! You know her parties are always the talk of the season.”

“So you spent one hundred and two pounds to... go visit your sister after slipping out of the Corinth party?” Ezra asked flatly. 

Abbie gasped audibly. “I…” She swallowed and started again. “I… how...”

"Can't imagine you finding a suitable husband _there_ ," Ezra drawled. "You do enjoy having your bread so perhaps you plan to be a baker's wife or something even more disgraceful than a soldier's wife like Jenny."

Abbie’s eyes widened. “Do not speak of my sister, your _daughter_ , in such a manner,” she said sternly. “I know you don’t like her choices, but she is happy and she is loved.”

“And how do you expect to say the same if you don’t get serious about finding a husband?” Ezra asked. 

“I _am_ serious!” Abbie said. 

“Then why am I the only one who is talking about it, why am I the only one who is trying to make plans? You told me not even a fortnight ago that you would make sure to put the Corinth party to good use,” Ezra reminded her. “And yet you sneak out to see your sister after not even an hour!”

“You expected me to come back with an engagement?” Abbie asked hotly.

“I expected you to at least have a potential name,” he said. “Can you even do that?”

Abbie opened her mouth, but any and all retorts fell flat and she closed it sullenly. 

“You have no idea,” Ezra said quietly. “And that… that is mostly my fault,” he admitted. “You have been coddled. _I’ve coddled you_ for too long. I allowed much in the wake of your sister’s elopement..”

Abbie came around the large island between them to stand closer to her father. “What are you not telling me?” she asked, cocking her head. “I’ve felt it for… for months,” she said. “This has nothing to do with Jenny. Not really. But you never say and neither does mother. How do you expect me to understand the gravity of a situation if you don’t _say anything_ , Father?”

Ezra swore under his breath. His eldest had always been intuitive, a trait she inherited from her mother. Abbie could read people like books when she wanted. She might not say anything, but he had long learned she would keep anything she _felt_ close to her sleeves until she deemed it necessary.

“This remains between us; I do not want your mother bothered,” Ezra said quickly. “She’s still in bed resting; I fear she overdid it last night and she needs to recuperate. Hearing that her daughter had left the grounds without so much as a word to her parents didn’t help any, either,” he said. 

Abbie ducked her head. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I just… I couldn’t stay. Andrew showed up and...”

Ezra looked down at his daughter and his heart clenched. “Why don’t you give Andrew a chance,” he asked. “I saw him again last night and he impressed upon me his regard for you. I think he is sincere and his holdings are formidable. Your life would not change.”

Abbie reared back in distaste. “I will not,” she said, her voice shaking. “I will run away if you implore it further. And mama would never forgive you for pressing it.”

Ezra frowned. “Abbie, is there something _you_ wish to tell _me_?”

Abbie blinked. There was plenty she wished to say, but nothing she could. Not without breaking her father’s heart and killing her mother. 

“No,” she said thickly. “Just _not_ him,” she whispered. "I would honestly marry _anyone_ but him."

"I pray you mean that." Ezra gathered the envelope and leaned down to press a kiss against his daughter’s dark curls. “That egg was for your mother,” he mentioned. 

Abbie sniffled and laughed as she wiped at her eyes. “Oh. Shall I take it to her?”

“Please. I have business to attend to.” He cupped her chin and smiled. “What I do, I do for you, do you understand that?” 

Abbie looked up at her father quizzically. “Of course,” she said. 

Ezra nodded. “Good.” He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “I will send for you later, stay home until then, would you?"

She nodded and supposed she owed her father such a simple request. "Maybe mother will feel well enough to sit with me and admonish my needlework."

Ezra shook his head with faint amusement."Why not ask while you take her the egg?"

Abbie nodded and fetched the tray she’d filled. “I’m sure she’d like some tea, too. I’ll make myself another cup.” She walked to the servant’s entrance and chuckled. “Look at me, I’m a chambermaid,” she laughed, and ducked through the swinging door.

Ezra’s smile dropped from his face and he shivered. It was as if her words echoed from the future. A future where he failed to do his duty as her father and the head of the family. None of the leads he’d tried panned out and as he stood in his kitchen after having to make his _own damn breakfast again_ , Ezra realized he could go no further. Decisions had to be made, and they had to be made by him. _Today_.

He knew he was about to do the right thing; he just hoped it was enough to secure his forgiveness.

  
~*~  


It was a labor of love to not be strangling his nephew at that very moment. Heavens knows Bandy wanted to not only choke the boy but perhaps bang his head against a wall a few times for good measure. Maybe it would knock some sense into him.

"You know how it can be when visiting our alma mater," Ichabod said casually. He was seated in a chair, idly worrying his thumb as he stared out the opened windows.

" _You were only at the party for fifteen minutes before it was done_ ," Bandy bellowed.

"At least I was _there_ ," Ichabod deadpanned, dropping his hand to his lap and glaring at Bandy.

Bandy's eyes fell to a round, glass paperweight. He curled his fingers into his palm to keep from reaching for it. "Are you done?” he asked.

Ichabod’s eyes narrowed. “Done with what?”

“Acting like a child, as if you’re some bystander with no stakes in events that have no bearing on your future or the future of what family you have left,” Bandy corrected. 

Ichabod’s eyes flashed. “I told you I didn’t want to go to that party. Why can’t I be trusted to find a wife on my own, in my own way?” 

“Because if I left it up to you I’m sure you’d never remarry. Or worse, get it in your head to chase after the harlot that left you and attempt to woo her back. She’s gone, nephew. She’s not returning because she doesn’t want to.”

Ichabod clenched his jaw and struggled to breathe normally. “Noted,” he said frostily.

Bandy had flashbacks to conversations in the old, pristine study of _Taighcrann_ , standing ramrod straight while the man that raised him took pleasure in letting him know every way in which he was a failure. He banked the fire inside and unclenched his fist as he made the choice to _not be like him_.

“I worry,” he admitted carefully. Ichabod pulled his stare in from the middle distance and Bandy saw incredulity. 

“I’m not afraid of being alone, uncle,” Ichabod said.

“I don’t think it would do you good to be alone,” Bandy said. “But that’s not what concerns me. I’m worried about this family; It has fallen to me to steer us into the future. I need to be able to hand the reins to you and know that you will not only thrive, but flourish. I worry about you; you used to be so lively and enjoyed being around others. I fear you may be having a bout of the megrims. I don’t want to lose you to it.”

“I’m fine,” Ichabod muttered.

Bandy sighed heavily and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “Not all business happens in offices, you know. A great deal is done in social circles that have strict requirements for membership. It’s not just who you know and sometimes you’ll need more than your name to get you in the door. A _good_ marriage is seen as the best, most prominent display of your judgment. Good businesses by good businessmen can come and go, rise and fall. That is the nature of the economy. If your marriage is above reproach then you are unassailable. That’s the type of security I want for you.” 

"I just… I just want to make certain _I_ am happy this time," Ichabod said quietly. "Is that too much to ask?"

"In this family? Yes," Bandy deadpanned. "Why do you think I was married to your auntie for so long? God rest her… manipulative and petty soul. I _hated_ her. She loathed me at best. Hell I'm surprised she never tried to murder me." Ichabod cocked a brow at him. "No I didn't murder her. It was of natural causes."

Bandy sighed heavily and dragged his fingers through his hair. "What about the Corinth girl? I saw you talking to her last night.” Ichabod looked at him. “Well, I saw her talk _at_ you. You, on the other hand, looked uncomfortable. She’s a nice girl. Her father is _very_ well connected...”

"No," Ichabod said bluntly, shaking his head. 

Bandy waited for some sort of elaboration, staring at Ichabod expectantly. He groaned and rolled his eyes. His patience finally snapped. " _You only have a year to have child in your hands you fucking idiot! You haven't got time for these stupid games_!" His hands gestured, as if to emphasize his point. When he settled again, his hand fell right atop the paperweight he had been wanting to avoid. His fingers closed around the dense orb. The only saving grace was a knock at the study door. " _What is it_?"

The door opened and a meek, freckled face peered in. "You have a caller sir," his butler in training said. "A Mister Ezra Mills."

Bandy almost wept with joy. "By all means, Oswald, you lovely child," he said sweetly. "Please attend to him in my study and tell him I will join him momentarily."

Ichabod’s fingers flicker at his sides before he gestured after the retreating servant. “Don’t let _me_ keep you from business,” he said.

Bandy merely looked at him. “Do check that Eustace hasn’t fallen face first into a pile of sweets… or a book, and stay close by," he said. He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but turned on his heel and left the room.

Ichabod didn’t exhale fully until he heard his uncle’s footsteps fade away.

  
~*~  


Abbie barely resisted the compulsion to press her face against the window of the carriage to watch as they stopped before an immaculate townhouse. Immediately she recognized it as Oak Post, a residence Zoe had fawned over for what she called _its gorgeous columns_. When the footman opened the door and held out his hand, she was glad she’d had the presence of mind to change into something more formal and elaborate - they were smack in the middle of Park Lane.

To think she had almost worn a dress from earlier in the season!

It wasn’t Fashionable Hour, but Abbie wouldn’t be caught unawares in London’s most exclusive neighborhood. Is this what had her father so up in arms? Was he getting a new home in the area? 

The thought made Abbie positively giddy. She could already see herself flaunting about in front of Andrew, telling him she couldn't possibly dream of marrying _down_ at this point. Of course, that would only be in her head as she wasn't quite so petty as to go to that length. But it was a pleasant thought.

Oak Post was one of the larger townhomes in the area. It flaunted dramatic wrought iron gates and, of course, the gorgeous columns Zoe gushed about. Abbie wondered if she should go visit with Zoe after this, tell her _all about_ the visit to Oak Post and apologize for running away last night. She did live just a few blocks down the way, after all.

As far as she knew, Old Bandy Crane was a bit of a recluse and rarely socialized outside of his posting at the bank. There were rumours he had a son but no one had ever been able to confirm. He never really participated in come outs. So, to be honest, Abbie was rather curious for more than one reason. 

The sir of the house was getting on up in years… Was father purchasing Oak Post? Oh! That would certainly be the highlight of her life if that was the case. Or perhaps Father was purchasing it for _her_ to live out her spinsterhood in luxury. It wasn’t _completely_ unheard of for a father to do so for their aging daughters...

The footman turned her over to a smartly dressed boy who puffed out his chest proudly. "I'm Oswald, Miss. I shall see you to one of our libraries to meet with Mister Crane."

"Thank you, Oswald," Abbie grinned, offering her hand. She was so caught up in admiring the townhome that she failed to realize the boy said she was here to see the sir of the house.

Oswald took her hand and escorted her through the elaborate entry doors. Abbie tried not to get awestruck, but it proved to be rather impossible. The home was _lovely_. Every curtain had been pulled back and draped dramatically, letting in as much light as possible. If she wasn't mistaken, there was a hint of rose water on the air along with another unidentifiable spice. It was so airy and light. She loved it.

The walls bore stylish paper with intricate designs and the marble floors were polished to a high shine. She could see herself flouncing down the broad staircase to throw her arms around one of her friends when they came to visit.

So involved in her fantasy, Abbie didn't realize they had arrived in the library until Oswald released her hand. "Would you care for a drink while you wait, Miss Mills?"

"Oh, tea would be lovely," she said graciously. Movement near the back of the room caught her attention as Oswald bowed out.

It was a gentleman, close to her own age, she would guess. He had paused in his perusal of the shelves to stare, slack-jawed, at her. Perhaps he, too, had business with Mister Crane.

Abbie mustered her most charming smile. She couldn't recall seeing him at any of the come outs. Perhaps he was one of the higher ranking servants or maybe even an apprentice... "I take it you're waiting for Mister Crane?" Abbie asked, sweeping over elegantly.

The gentleman flustered and his face tinged a soft pink as he closed his book and set it aside. "When Bandy is busy with a visitor, he sometimes leaves guests in my care as Oswald is still learning his tasks," he replied. He took her hand and gracefully bowed over it. "Ichabod Crane at your services, madam."

"Crane?" Abbie asked. Was _this_ the rumored son? She suddenly wondered if he was in want of a wife. It was seldom she had such a thought on the first meeting, but he was… gorgeous. Not to mention well connected with the surname Crane… Is that why her father had sent for her?

"Bandy is my uncle," Ichabod replied with a soft smile.

"Oh," Abbie said softly and politely curtsied. "Grace Abigail Mills. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintances." She glanced around so she wouldn't be staring at his handsome face. Goodness, he was improperly close and he hadn’t yet released her hand, but she couldn't bring herself to care at the moment. "May I peruse the shelves whilst I wait?"

"Of course, you can have whatever your heart desires…" He blinked and shook his head to clear it before stepping back to a proper distance. "This is my personal library, filled with my favorites. Well, my personal library at my uncle's home. I have my own at _Taighcrann_. It's much more impressive in my opinion. Then again, I may be somewhat biased."

Abbie plucked a book from the shelves. " _Pride and Prejudice_ is one of your favorites?"

"I like what I like and I make no apologies," Ichabod replied, a wicked smirk on his lips. 

Warmth spread over Abbie's cheeks as she dropped her gaze to the cover of the book. "I don't require much care. I will be rather content to read while I wait for my father to conclude his business with your uncle."

"Would you mind if I joined you?" Ichabod asked. 

"I am hardly in a position to forbid it in your uncle's home," Abbie said.

"And I am of the inclination that, regardless of where I am, I dare not impose upon a lady without her permission," Ichabod retorted.

His admission made Abbie smile. "By all means, you're more than welcome to join me."

She grinned when he retrieved _Sense and Sensibility_ from the shelf. And just in time, too, for Oswald returned with a cart laden with a tea tray. Abbie seated herself on a plush couch, while Ichabod retreated to a chair across from her. They sat in companionable silence, reading and sipping tea long after Oswald had retreated.

"Who is your favorite in _Pride and Prejudice_ ," Abbie asked curiously. At Ichabod's questioning look, she added, "I've often found one can tell a lot about a person by who their favorite characters are in books."

Ichabod gained a thoughtful expression for a moment. "I must say I am torn between Bingley and Elizabeth. Bingley because I find myself often able to relate to his situation. Elizabeth because I admire her tenacity and refusal to back down from her beliefs until she has substantial proof she was in the wrong."

Abbie wrinkled her nose. So he had, in fact, read it. Bram had claimed he read it six times, yet couldn't recall a solitary character from it. She had even given him a few characters to choose from and he had picked one from the new Sir Walter Scott book!

She had just recaptured her stopping point when Ichabod had a question of his own. "Who is your favorite?"

Abbie sighed self-deprecatingly. “I find I have more in common with Elizabeth than I’d rather admit,” she said.

“I think it’s quite exhilarating when we find someone in literature with whom we can identify - even if we can recognize our flaws within them. The thrill of being known while unknown, perhaps,” Ichabod replied, his voice trailing off as he let himself get lost in his thoughts.

Abbie just looked at him until Ichabod glanced over at her, obviously reacting to the sudden silence. She immediately glanced down and busied herself by consuming her tea.

She had just picked her book back up when two figures entered the library. One was her father. The other was an older, somewhat harried-looking man. "Oh good God," he groused. "Leave it to Ichabod to think reading books is entertaining someone."

"Knowing my daughter, it was her idea," Ezra intoned.

The other man got a vacant, far away look in his eyes before shaking his head and sighing. "Have the two of you at least had a conversation? Said hello?"

Abbie could feel her proverbial hackles raise as she set her book aside. "We actually had a delightful conversation about our adoration of Pride and Prejudice. And who might _you be_ , sir?" From the corner of her eye she caught Ichabod giving her a curious smirk, as if he was impressed by the way she was handling this stranger.

"Bandy Crane, owner of this home," he grumped. 

"Did you enjoy the time the two of you spent together?" Ezra asked, looking between them.

Both Abbie and Ichabod murmured in the affirmative. Considering either of them had such a time finding someone to talk literature with and considered reading as an acceptable visiting activity, it had in fact been very enjoyable.

"Good. Then you'll be glad to be informed Ezra and I have come to the mutually beneficial decision to combine our households."

Abbie and Ichabod glance at each other. "What does that mean?" she asked slowly. 

"Marriage," Ezra clarified. "You and Ichabod will be getting married in two weeks."

Two jaws dropped open in surprise.

"Excuse me?" Abbie squeaked at the same exact moment Ichabod barked out an indignant, "I beg your pardon?"


	4. Abruptly Yours,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod and Abbie are absolutely not looking forward to their arrangement!

"You _must_ be joking," Ichabod objected.

"You couldn't possibly be serious," Abbie added, echoing his sentiment. "What sort of mutual benefits could you possibly glean from such an arrangement?"

Ezra was about to speak when Bandy cut in. "It doesn't concern you. The agreement is between me and your father."

"We will be announcing the upcoming nuptials at our come out at the end of the week," Ezra said. "And the wedding will be the following week."

"It _doesn't concern me_ ," Abbie growled. "Like Hell it doesn't! I'm the one being… festooned into a marriage to a man just met an hour ago. I'd say it very much does concern me, sir!" She cast Ichabod a withering look. Yes, she had been fancying the idea seemingly moments ago, but now it was being thrust upon her as though she was nothing more than a business transaction! 

"I'm certain you are a kind and wonderful person, although your choice of favorite characters is questionable, but--" She cut a scornful glare back at Bandy. "--I _refuse_ to partake! Father, for all I know this man could be a murder or… or… a vagrant of some kind!'

"That's my nephew you're talking about," Bandy snapped.

"She has a perfectly valid concern," Ichabod spoke up. To his surprise, all three others in the room looked at him. "Uncle…"

"Don't you _uncle_ me," Bandy huffed. "You're the one that hasn't been taking your imminent need of a suitable bride and an heir seriously."

"And _five_ rejected engagements, Abigail," Ezra added. 

Both Abbie and Ichabod suddenly found their shoes very interesting. They slowly looked toward each other. _Mutual benefits_. Her father and his uncle each had a person in their care that needed a spouse. 

“Father -”

Ezra stepped forward and shook his head. “Abigail,” he said quietly. He took a deep breath and looked to Bandy. “May I speak with my daughter alone?” 

Bandy nodded, Ichabod immediately dropped his book to stalk from the room, pointedly not looking at his uncle as he did so. 

Abbie’s jaw was clenched tight until the doors closed behind the retreating men, then she turned to her father incredulously. “Why do you- Why would you do this to me, Father? You said it would be _my_ choice on who I married and--”

“Our position is extremely perilous, honey.”

Abbie’s words got stuck in her throat as she attempted to swallow around them. What her father said made no sense. “What?” she asked in shock, her hand going to her chest.

Ezra tugged the bottom of his waistcoat and took her arm to lead her back to the chaise across the room. “Abbie, we have had a few… years of bad luck.”

“What does that mean?” she asked. “That - that doesn’t make any sense,” Abbie protested. “I don’t understand… You’re the best businessman I’ve ever known! How could this happen?”

Ezra cupped her cheek gently, the warmth of his daughter’s pride feeding the fire of his guilt. Abbie wretched her cheek away and swatted at his hand defiantly. “My - _our_ misfortune has nothing to do with my business acumen. We fell prey to pirates and insurance is a complicated, convoluted mess that has left us with more problems rather than less.”

“And your answer to this is to marry me off?” Abbie asked. Suddenly everything made perfect sense; the reduction of their staff at home, her father constantly seeming preoccupied, _his anger over her spending_. “To a _stranger_?”

Ezra’s gaze hardened. “No, Abbie, it wasn’t,” he said pointedly. “Dare I mention again the _five_ broken engagements? Five. It is my responsibility to see that you marry well. You had your pick of society and declined all eligible bachelors. What was I to do?”

“Let me keep looking!” Abbie said.

“And how would you have secured an acceptable match after it had come out the Mills fortune was no more? That we would have to sell the townhome, Dove Manor, and even Emeraldstone Cottage?” 

Abbie’s eyes widened. “Sell our… where would we live?” she asked quietly.

“We would be forced to stay at Rose Manor in Edinburgh,” he said.

Abbie still couldn’t comprehend. “But… Rose Manor is a day house,” she said, slowly. “We couldn’t live there all the time,” she scoffed. “What about my dowry?”

“We would be forced to, honey,” Ezra said. “Far away from Jenny and your nieces… Away from your friends. And you wouldn’t _have_ a dowry anymore, darling.” He took her hand in both of his. "I want to make sure you can continue to be _here_ with your friends. From what Bandy has said, Ichabod is a very polite young man and any woman would be fortunate to have him as a husband. The only catch is, he needs an heir within a year so he can inherit the many and massive Crane Estates."

At that, Abbie felt tears sting her eyes. "So, not only are we destitute and I have to marry a stranger, but I am also required to give that complete stranger a child within a year?" Her jaw trembled as the tears streamed down her face. "This isn't fair, Papa."

For a moment, her father's stern facade wavered. But he then sucked in a breath. "Tears aren't going to work, Abigail. Bandy and I have made the deal. It's happening. And you said _anyone but Andrew_. This was all I could come up with to make sure you were taken care of.”

"Have you told Mother the money's all gone?" Abbie scowled.

"She knows," Ezra said quietly. "It's the worry over finances that's making her unwell."

"I will run away," Abbie said haughtily.

"And when I find you at Katrina's house, you will still be getting married," Ezra replied with a hint of mirth. “I knew you would put up an argument. But you have to understand, this is something that needed to happen. I was thinking about your future as well as that of myself and your mother.”

"I'll tell Mother," Abbie spat. “You know she would never approve of this… She always said she never wanted my marriage to come from a _business dealing_.”

"You do that," Ezra said quietly. "But in the end, what Bandy and I have arranged is what will happen. I'll call the carriage for you.”

She fumed. “You’re not coming with me?”

“No; I want to speak with your fiancé."

Abbie had never felt more dejected in her life as the moment her father closed the carriage door and walked back into Oak Post. Oh, she couldn't wait to return home. Mother would definitely put an end to these shenanigans!

  
~*~  


It was almost eerie seeing his nephew angry.

Bandy couldn't help but think he resembled old Nebuchadnezzar the most. That cold, penetrating stare, the way he clenched his jaw, the way his fingers flicked at his side. When Neb would do that, it generally meant the target of his fury needed to vacate immediately.

Bandy had no doubt Ichabod had the _potential_ to be just as cruel and mean as Nebuchadnezzar Crane, of course any living and breathing human being had that potential. However, Ichabod was something Neb had never been; Ichabod was kind. 

Ichabod had a doting mother and a kind and generous man to raise him. He had been taught nothing less than love and acceptance by his parents… even if Bandy knew, in his heart, there were certain truths of his parents he didn't know about. Like a true Crane, Bandy was going to hold those truths close to his chest until the perfect moment arose.

So, to see Nebuchadnezzar Crane shining out of Ichabod's eyes, Bandy knew two things. One, he had personally pushed Ichabod to a limit. Two, if Ichabod did snap, Bandy's punishment was going to be perfectly justified. Luckily, de-escalation was one of Bandy's many talents. 

"Oh stop glowering and pouting like a child, I warned you," Bandy grumped. "You brought this upon yourself."

Bandy held his own ground when Ichabod stormed up to him, finger jutted in his face. "This… this is preposterous! You couldn't permit me time to grow accustomed to new surroundings, with new people, in a home I haven't seen, let alone lived in, since university?"

"You finished Oxford not too long ago," Bandy pointed out. "And you didn't take to the social events _then_ either. If these people are strangers, rest assured, it's because you never made an effort to meet them to start with." He scowled. "Get that finger out of my face before you put an eye out."

"My father has just recently passed away," Ichabod huffed, his hand dropping. "You snatched me away from my home in America, returned me to _this place_ , and then have the audacity to say I have a very limited amount of time in which to meet a woman, marry her, then produce an heir. 

“And then… _then_ you have the nerve to take matters into your own hands when you feel I am not moving fast enough. I could have very well met Miss Mills at her own come out this coming weekend."

Bandy snorted with laughter. "When exactly would you have done that? When you waltzed in as the staff was cleaning up? After everyone was gone?"

"These stipulations are absurd," Ichabod said. "A year to have an entire child brought into this earth? What of the variables? What if she is unable to have children, what if _I_ am unable to produce children? What if she becomes with child and in the third month, suffers a miscarriage? What of your precious stipulations then?"

"I didn't make the rules. Neb did," Bandy deadpanned. "Neb quite clearly forbid me or Mess from inheriting the estate. Why else would your father lark off to America? He had no reason to stay here. Neb clearly stated in his will that only you or Eustace can inherit. And those were his rules. So when your father died, you were the one that had to step in and kneel to Neb's demands. 

“Just be lucky Mess was good friends with Jason Corinth. Before he took ill, he was able to get him to work out an extension due to Betsy larking off. Otherwise _Taighcrann_ would be buried under cakes and biscuits right now.”

“What on Earth do you mean?” Ichabod asked incredulously.

“Mister Corinth has connections with the crown,” Bandy explained. “He and your father were able to get an _extenuating circumstances_ deal worked out that gave you more time. Three years or a year from Messy’s death, whichever came first. Unfortunately, he died much quicker than anyone expected.”

Bandy whirled around and stomped to his desk, ruffling through the mail deliveries for the day. He paused briefly when a letter posted from _Ouidah, Benin_ caught his eye. He smiled briefly and quickly tucked the letter into his coat. “We could probably file for another extension but we would need a far better reason than your acting like a brat.

"If you don't like the rules, you can change them in _your_ last will," Bandy stated. " _Unfortunately_ , Neb was an insufferable cunt and wanted to make sure everyone was miserable, long after his death."

“And what if I refuse the money?” Ichabod asked. “Perhaps I wish to live without the strings and restrictions of inheriting the Crane Estates.”

Bandy looked unimpressed. “And what would you do,” he asked coldly. “You may not have had access to the full Crane fortune, but you have never had to stand on your own without family assistance. Or did you forget that Mess left his holdings to his philanthropic endeavors so you would have nothing?”

Ichabod’s anger tasted like bile. _This truly was his only chance to change what everyone thought when they heard the Crane name_.

“And what of your cousin, Eustace? I know I joke about the house being full of sweets but, in all honesty… He's too young and inexperienced with Society for that sort of responsibility. Your grandfather, in his _infinite_ wisdom, arranged for everything - all holdings, businesses, estates and titles would revert to the crown if you or he didn’t take it.”

Ichabod’s eyebrows rose. “Surely you’re joking,” he said flatly. The Cranes were descended from proud Scots who would rather die than submit anything more than legally required to the English crown. 

“If only I were,” Bandy said. “And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather burn it all to the ground rather than that happen.”

“We are in agreement,” Ichabod muttered. 

“Good,” Bandy announced with a clap of his hands. “You will marry Miss Mills.”

Ichabod turned it over in his mind, looking at it from every conceivable angle. It still came back to the one solution. “And what of her,” he asked sullenly. “What does Miss Mills get out of this?”

He reflected on the first two parties he had attended upon arriving in London. Seeing Abbie in the distance on the arm of a handsome, broad-shouldered, blond man had made him realize that he probably had no chance at finding a proper wife… as they were all already taken. But yet here she was, today… being shoehorned into a marriage with _him_. And for what reason? Why was she not given any other option as well?

“Her family is on the verge of ruin due to outside forces. We are uniquely suited to ensure that doesn’t happen. Quid pro quo, if you will.” Bandy smoothed down his coat. “If her family loses their credibility, she’ll never be able to fetch herself a husband. I’m sure you would hate it, just as much as I, to see a lady accustomed to the life she has to be suddenly destitute.”

“Oh, that is wonderful. I’m _purchasing_ a bride so she can continue to live a good life,” Ichabod said bitterly. "Wonderful. Not at all like my last marriage."

“What do you think marriage _is_ you walnut?” Bandy snapped. “Give and take happens on many levels. I am tired of having to explain the world to you,” he said disgustedly. “I suggest between now and your wedding - your _second_ wedding - you achieve adulthood. Life is hard, but our life is not nearly as difficult as it _could be_. Be grateful for that much." He stalked to the door, stopped, and added, "It might make things easier if you and Miss Mills spend the time together, getting to know each other between now and the wedding. _Actually talking to each other_ , not just sitting about reading books."

Ichabod stared after his uncle in slight shock. He knew Bandy was at his wits’ end when it came to this whole circumstance, but he hadn’t seen him so…

… so angry.

And Ichabod wished he could chalk the vehemence up to just that, but he could see past the facade into the root - Bandy was afraid. Afraid that Nebuchadnezzar would be the lasting impression of the Crane name, that the wealth they had built would just abruptly disappear to the crown. He feared the future of the Crane legacy would cease to be.

Deep down, Ichabod didn’t want that, either.

  
~*~  


It was not a flounce.

Abbie absolutely did _not_ flounce her way out of the carriage and into the house, up the stairs and to her parents’ bedroom. She stared at the door and breathed deeply, hoping the action would center her. It did manage to remove the fine tremble in her hands, but her emotions still roiled within. She knocked on the door before she opened it slowly. “Mother?”

“Come,” Lori called.

Abbie entered to find her mother reading on the chaise in front of the window, the sounds of London muted as though they were further away than just two stories. The sun shone on her glossy black curls gathered at the nape and draped over one shoulder. Abbie remembered begging her mother to let her brush her long hair, and the glee she felt when she held the heavy ivory brush and carefully went about her work as she stood on a stool behind that very same chaise. 

The nostalgia pierced Abbie’s chest and her throat tightened momentarily at the flood of emotion. “Mother,” she said softly, smiling when she looked up at her. “How are you doing?”

“Better,” Lori beamed, hefting her book. 

Abbie peered at the cover. “Oh, you’re rereading The Antiquary,” she said as she came closer. “Like clockwork.”

Lori laughed. “I can’t help I have a routine,” she said. She glanced up at her daughter and frowned. “Whatever is the matter?” she asked, patting the empty space beside her. 

Abbie fell rather than sat on the seat and angrily pulled off her gloves. “I hardly know where to begin,” she admitted. 

“Then why don’t we start with some tea. I only barely burned the leaves this time,” Lori joked as she turned to the tea service beside her. 

Abbie watched with growing dread as her mother poured, tipping the liquid onto the saucer as her arms shook. Lori’s face looked gaunt and her eyes a little bright; it was fairly obvious she was not well, and her father’s words rushed back so quickly Abbie had to close her eyes.

“Abbie?”

She opened her eyes and accepted the cup gratefully, a bit of cream and sugar swirling in the liquid. “Father sent for me today,” she began after she took a sip.

Lori nodded, drinking a bit of her own tea. “I remember him mentioning something like that earlier- whatever for?”

"Apparently…" Abbie hesitated. “I’m engaged now,” she said lowly. 

Lori’s eyes widened and to her credit she merely nodded. “To whom? It wasn’t to Andrew, was it?”

“No mother,” Abbie said, shaking her head. She almost chuckled at her mother's disapproving tone. “Ichabod Crane.”

"Ichabod Crane, hm? Crane name. Wretched given name, must be from Neb's lot." Lori shifted in her seat and hummed curiously, looking at Abbie as if she were an animal about to bolt. “What are you thinking, daughter?”

“Everything. That my life is over as I know it,” Abbie said mournfully. "I'm expected to marry him in _two weeks_ mama, it's not fair…"

Again Lori nodded. "Not an uncommon feeling but that's a lady's lot. But, just look at it as starting a new chapter in your life."

Abbie sniffled and wiped at her eyes angrily. “I thought I was too angry to cry,” she said. "What do you think of my being told I _have_ to marry him?"

Lori delicately scooped several spoonfuls of sugar into her tea and stirred. "I was once in your situation.”

Abbie frowned. “You were?”

Lori nodded. “I was still a maid and had been set to be engaged, but the engagement was rejected by the prospective groom's father as well as my own. We were both... devastated. Of course, back then, a broken engagement was… such _scandal_... and then he..." Mother closed her eyes and crossed herself delicately. “Rest his soul…”

Lori chuckled softly. "My father found a gentleman willing to marry me. And said that was my only option. I was livid, as you imagine… I warrant you get that from me. Oh, how I screamed and cried and raged, I threatened to run away and join the lovely people in the caravans. But in the end… your father was one of the kindest men I've ever met. And I wouldn't trade anything for the time I've been at his side.

"And I reminded your father of that when he asked me if he would be doing the right thing by having you get engaged today." She picked up her cup with trembling hands and took a sip. "Which Crane is Ichabod's father?"

Abbie blinked at her mother as her heart sank. Papa had asked her thoughts on it as well? Was that why he seemed so unbothered by her taking this matter up with her mother? What is she supposed to feel about that? "I… I don't know. All I know is that Abednego Crane is his uncle."

"So it must be Meshach. Little Bandicoot was left Oak Post by _his_ uncle," Lori hummed. She laughed and smiled. “Never fancied Messy as the sort of father a child, but I had heard he got married so, perhaps he found a soft spot for at least one lady… What do you know about your fiancé?"

“I’ve only just met him,” Abbie said, flustered slightly and feeling oddly defensive. "I know he has questionable taste in book characters," she huffed. "Can you believe he relates to _Bingley_... Of all the characters!"

"Which one was that, dear?"

"The silly one always after Mr Darcy's approval," Abbie replied. She was so up in arms about it, she missed her mother's bemused look. "And, of all things, he _admires_ Elizabeth's tenacity and forthcomingness… the _nerve_."

Lori shook her head and laughed. "And what is your biggest fear with that information, love? Are you scared he'll be like Bingley… or are you afraid you won't be like Elizabeth?"

Abbie sputtered, nearly dropping her tea as she looked at her mother. She set her cup on the table and folded her hands in her lap. Lori cocked a brow and hid a smirk behind a sip of tea. “Why are you so calm about this?”

Lori sighed. “Because it will all work out, Abbie. I can feel it in my bones.” She patted her chest. "And right here."

Abbie nodded, staring down at her hands as she twisted her gloves practically into knots. “And if you were here instead of me, telling your younger self that… how much comfort would it bring?”

Lori looked stricken. "My younger self was foolish and brash,” she admitted. “And always thought she was right. It wasn't until I was older that I realized young me, more often than not, was wrong."

Well, that was certainly the exact opposite of what Abbie wanted to hear. Although she couldn’t help but wonder if her mother would try to convince her younger self to not marry papa, given the current state of affairs. 

Abbie decided against asking that aloud. “Katrina expects me this afternoon. May I go?”

Lori swallowed and nodded. “I promise you, Abbie,” she said, capturing her hand as she rose from the chaise, “I promise we only want what is best for you, darling. We’ve all had to make sacrifices for our family. This just happens to be yours.”

“Of course, mother,” Abbie said flatly as she refused to look at her. Before she could move away her mother reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it briefly. Abbie couldn’t stay angry at her mother for long and squeezed back before she strode from the room. 

Lori watched her daughter retreat and exhaled deeply. Her hands trembled and she ached all over. The trembling was too much to hold her teacup and, as she tried to return it to the service it slipped from her fingers, crashing to the floor and shattering into pieces. 

“That better not be an omen,” Lori muttered to herself as the liquid spread across the floor. She sighed and knelt down to clean up the mess but paused when she noticed a pattern in the wet tea leaves on the floor. Two patterns, she noted when she tilted her head. "A basket and a bouquet… hmm…"

_An addition to the family… loyal friends, and happy marriage._

Lori settled back on her heels and smiled. She had to remember not all omens were bad.

  
~*~  


Ezra found the younger Crane outside in the garden, staring listlessly at the bees buzzing around wisteria blooms. It was strange to see the blooms so late in the year, Ezra noted, most of the London paths had faded but the ones creeping up the side of Oak Post were still a bright and vibrant purple. He knew because Lori always lamented when the blooms near the townhouse would start to fade and wilt.

Ichabod sighed heavily as he stood and turned, the younger man’s poise was one of guarded defeat and Ezra couldn’t help but know he was partially to blame for it. Ichabod turned and his eyes widened briefly before he inclined his head politely. “Mister Mills,” he muttered. 

“A word, please, Ichabod,” Ezra said, curious when Ichabod’s spine straightened, and his shoulders squared.

For the space of half a second, Ichabod gave him a stony stare, as if this was one request he had been anticipating for all the reasons Ezra had been hesitant about making the deal in the first place. After the moment passed, Ichabod gave him a wordless, curt nod.

“You are probably angry right now,” Ezra started carefully. Like many others in society, he had heard of old Neb Crane and his reputation. Also, like the others, Ezra hadn’t known what to make of the man the Crane patriarch had deemed worthy of inheriting the family estates, and Bandy’s insistence that Ichabod was nothing like the old man hadn’t put Ezra at ease yet. 

When Ichabod didn’t respond, Ezra continued. “This isn’t exactly an ideal situation for me either…”

“I don’t care,” Ichabod interrupted sternly.

Ezra blinked at him, suddenly more amused than taken aback. “You… You don’t care?” he repeated.

“I don’t care if it’s ideal for you or not,” Ichabod clarified. “You’re not the one having to marry a complete stranger in two weeks so your father can save his failing business dealings. In my considered opinion, your daughter has every right and reason to run away and leave you to fail.”

Ezra went still. “Take care,” he rumbled as a bit of his good humor leeched away.

“I’m not finished,” Ichabod growled, holding up a silencing finger. 

Ezra stared at that finger and blinked again, unsure if he should be more offended or galled at the audacity of the young man before him. 

Ichabod stepped forward. “Should she choose to do so, I would not blame her. One thing I have never been able to fathom is how men such as you can raise kind and loving daughters, then swap them off for personal gain as though they are nothing,” Ichabod continued. 

“My own mother told me the tale of how she had run away as a young girl because she didn’t want to marry a man three times her age. By sheer luck, she and my father had long fallen in love, and he petitioned her father for her hand instead. It was only because my father was viewed as a much better _prize_ she didn’t have to marry the other man.”

_Well, well, well_. “Your concern in all this is… Abbie,” Ezra said, hoping the incredulity he felt hadn’t bled through into his tone. This seemed almost too good to be true. “And what about your family’s fortune?” he prodded.

“Quite frankly, I don’t care whether it goes to myself or my younger cousin,” Ichabod stated. “But my uncle has concerns with regards to my cousin inheriting and while I am furious with him over going over my head and behind my back, we have put that to bed.”

“You shared your views with Bandy?” Ezra couldn’t help but be impressed at both Ichabod’s tenacity and bravery. 

Ichabod provided one curt nod. “Should Abigail decide to flee, rest assured, I could very easily find someone else that would be more than willing to fill the role of bride. _My concern_ is for your daughter’s happiness and well-being because you evidently don’t give a damn about it as long as you remain a rich man.”

Ezra’s eyes narrowed. “Beautiful words, Mister Crane, but since you’re being so forthcoming, allow me to be the same. You don’t know me. You don’t know my character and you _certainly_ don’t know what or who I care about. I still maintain the deal between your uncle and me is to ensure Abbie’s continued happiness and well-being, _and_ that of my wife.”

“And how many times did you consult them whilst considering my uncle’s offer? Judging by Abigail’s reaction, you didn’t speak to her about it at all,” Ichabod said flatly. “Did you ever ask your wife if she would be fine with being a poor man’s wife? Whether _she_ was willing to sell her daughter to absolve your debts?”

Well, now Ezra knew _exactly_ where he stood with Ichabod. A half step below a lecherous scoundrel.

“We spoke at length,” he said smoothly. It took considerable effort to rein in his temper but he wrestled it back into its cage and slammed the door shut before he locked it tightly. “My wife and I make decisions together, and I don’t say that to justify myself to you.”

Ichabod looked taken aback. “Pardon me?”

“Indeed,” Ezra said coolly. “I appreciate your candor and your concern for my daughter’s happiness.”

“You have a rebuttal,” Ichabod said flatly. 

“More like an observation.” Ezra shook his head and smiled softly. “I hope you maintain such fire when you learn more about this world and how there are times when your only choices are between the rock and the hard place.”

“And which one am I to be, Mr. Mills?” Ichabod asked.

“I do believe that remains to be seen.”

“You say I know nothing of the world but I have found people throw that phrase around when they don’t wish to face the backlash of their decisions and the havoc they wreak. You and my uncle made decisions for everyone and then act surprised your daughter is angry with you.”

“I was not surprised Abbie was furious with me. This was entirely unexpected and wholly unwelcome. I did what was best - that’s my job as a husband and a father,” Ezra fired back. “One day you will understand when you are a husband and father, too.”

“My father was both a husband and a father,” Ichabod said. “And if there was a decision that affected me he would inform me of the situation, present my options and the possible outcomes, and ask _my opinion_ on what should take place. He very seldom made a decision concerning his wife and son on his own.

“ _That_ is the kind of husband and father _I_ will be someday. Not some scoundrel that sells my daughter to the highest bidder to save myself.” With that, Ichabod bowed politely. “I have duties that need seen to, considering my impending nuptials are in two weeks.”

He made to brush past Ezra, but Ezra grasped his elbow and stared Ichabod straight in the eyes. The look upon Ichabod’s face was positively venomous Ezra maintained his grip in the face of the younger man’s ire. “Thank you,” Ezra muttered. 

The fiery expression on Ichabod’s face faltered and was replaced by confusion. 

“I’ve been concerned for the past week you would be some wretched, sniveling, pampered boy that would attempt to _tame_ Abbie’s spirit out of some misguided idea that it would make you more of a man. She’s had plenty of suitors come her way with that line of thinking and they have parted ways having been shown the futility and error of their ways. Don’t mistake my quiet resignation for a lack of caring and concern. As stated before, you don’t know me.”

Ichabod looked down to where his elbow remained stayed by Ezra’s hand. “And now?” Ichabod cocked a brow.

“Again, it remains to be seen but I think you might be exactly what she’s been looking for,” Ezra stated. Ichabod’s expression shifted from mild petulance to confusion tinged surprise as Ezra took a step back. “Just in case you still have it in your head that I don’t give a damn about my daughter… If you step your tiniest toe out of line, I won’t give a damn about any arrangements and I don’t care a bit about your grandfather’s legacy. You will simply... disappear from the face of this Earth.”

Ichabod smiled lightly and nodded. “Understood, Mister Mills.”

  
~*~  


"Abigail!"

Abbie laughed as Katrina flung her arms around her waist and lifted her bodily off the ground, whirling her around.”You act as if you haven't seen me,” she said as soon as her feet returned to the ground. 

“Can’t I celebrate you every time I see you?” Katrina asked, linking her arm through Abbie’s. “Not that I need to inflate that head of yours any more than it already is,” she joked.

Abbie gasped, full of mock yet righteous indignation, and giggled as she swatted her arm. “I shall take my companionship elsewhere, madam,” she threatened. She jutted her nose into the air and _hmmphed_ indignantly.

“I’ll behave, I swear,” Katrina promised. She took Abbie's hand, entwining their fingers as she led Abbie into her home. "I think I may have found you the perfect husband at the come out. He's an absolute angel… Orion de Angel. _It's even his name_ , Abbie. His family is visiting from Spain… He's handsome, kind, and a lovely smile..."

Abbie felt her stomach grow heavy. 

Katrina stopped mid-stride, sensing something was amiss with her dear friend. “What? What’s wrong?"

"I'm already engaged. Just before lunch today," Abbie said softly, her hard exterior crumbling. She pulled a handkerchief from her bodice and dabbed at her eyes.

"You should be happy, that's what you wanted, isn't it? Although, I do insist upon speaking to him before the wedding. I can't have my dearest friend swept away, never to be seen again… Mister Angel at least stated he would have no issues with myself coming along to Spain with you," Katrina chattered. "I warrant a spring wedding would be absolutely perfect for you… Flowers in your hair, the sun casting a warm glow upon your beautiful skin…" She gasped. “It wasn't Andrew, was it?”

"Heavens no! I am getting married in less than two weeks," Abbie sighed. Katrina gawked in offense. "It was neither of our choices. My father and his uncle arranged it. We're to announce our engagement at our party, and the following week, marriage."

"By the way you seemed so unenthusiastic, I would think it _was_ to Andrew, but he hasn't any family," Katrina hummed.

"His name is Ichabod Crane," Abbie said. "Of the Crane Hill Crane's." Katrina gasped. "I know!" Abbie muttered.

When they arrived at the sitting room, they sank into one of the plush sofas. Katrina took both of Abbie's hands and she glanced about before she lowered her voice. "I heard old Nebuchadnezzar Crane cursed his family on his deathbed. Is your father certain he wants to connect you to such a family?"

"From what my father says, Ichabod is my only serious prospect aside from Andrew," Abbie pouted. She had heard of The Crane Curse. It was why Crane Hill had remained empty for so long. It's why all the young people were warned away. It's also why so many young people dared to cross into the lands. Abbie bounced with frustration. "He and I both insist the arrangement isn't fair. But we were essentially told to suck it up." She groaned. "And all I can really think of at the moment is how _stupid_ his face is."

"How dreadful," Katrina ventured, a small smile twitching at one corner of her mouth. Bram had a stupid face in Abbie's opinion. As had Daniel Reynolds, Calvin Riggs, and her other potential and attempted suitors before they behaved in manners Abbie found unsuitable.

"You have _no idea_ , Katrina," Abbie wailed. "It's positively _rude_ how stupid his face is. And no one else seems to be as bothered as I that he relates to _Bingley_..."

"The audacity," Katrina gawked. She would give her right hand to have a Bingley… Katrina was rather fond of the character's kind nature. But it was Elizabeth that her heart yearned for. Not that she would admit that publicly. Her mother and father were already worried about her plans to follow Abbie wherever she went.

It didn’t seem like a bad idea to Katrina. Surely he would let her reside with her dearest friend once she reached spinsterhood in a year?

Abbie looked at her briefly. “What if he’s a beast?” she whispered. “You’ve heard the tales of old man Crane. And Ichabod’s uncle is a cranky sort…”

“That’s a fair thing to wonder,” Katrina admitted. “But what if he isn’t?”

“Now you sound like my mother,” Abbie grumped. 

“I can think of far worse things than being compared to Miss Lori,” Katrina said, preening. “But honestly, how _do you_ know?”

“I _don’t_ know,” she admitted.

“So… why don’t you find out?” Katrina tried.

“You’re being reasonable in an unreasonable situation and I am trying hard not to be cross with you,” Abbie muttered mournfully.

Katrina sat back and crossed her arms. “I’m not happy about this,” she clarified. “But no matter what your parents say you could always run away here, like you did when we were eleven.”

Abbie’s expression turned fond. “To think, I thought I was an adult,” she sighed. “Ready to face the world on my own.” She flopped over onto Katrina’s arm and sighed. “Oh, to be so reckless again.”

“I sent a carriage for you because your footman knew not to let you go anywhere alone.” Katrina tipped her head back and smiled. “You arrived with six dresses, four hats, and only one pair of shoes.”

“It seems even then I had my priorities straight.” Abbie groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose and sat up. “Which is why I have to marry him, Kat.”

Katrina shook her head. “No, you don’t! They’re only doing this because Jenny found her true love and -”

“It turns out circumstances are dire,” Abbie interrupted quietly.

Katrina’s eyes grew wide. “What?” she whispered. That would mean… Katrina couldn’t bring herself to say the words aloud and she leaned forward as her gaze darted to and fro though they were alone in the parlor. “That can’t be...”

“According to my father it’s true and I don’t think he’d lie about something so wretched.”

“How bad is it?”

Abbie sighed. “It’s almost killing my mother,” she admitted. “And to think I went shopping and spent so much money,” she said mournfully. “I absolutely did not make anything any easier for them.”

“But… But that still shouldn’t force you to marry someone. You’ll live with me and I will share my fortune with you and we will travel around the world, shopping and eating good food in fabulous places, as we deserve.” Katrina stood up and nodded her head once as if it were done. If they were to go through with this there was much to plan, and - She realized Abbie hadn’t moved. “Abbie?” When Abbie didn’t respond Katrina sank back down, suddenly just as sad.

“I’m the oldest, Kat. Since I can, I have to do something to save my family,” Abbie said.

“But it’s not fair,” Katrina whispered, eyes bright with unshed tears. 

“I agree,” Abbie said. “But since when is life fair?”

Katrina looked into the beautiful face of her friend and fell just a little bit more in love with her. She wouldn't dare tell her dear friend just how much she loved her. Not when Abbie already had the world upon her shoulders. "No… life isn't fair. Especially to us ladies." 

She gathered Abbie's hands to her chest and softly kissed her forehead. Had she been a man the length of time she lingered with her lips to Abbie's skin would have been improper. When she pulled away, Katrina wiped away Abbie's tears with the back of her fingers. "I shall speak to Mister Crane to make certain he knows, should he be inclined to harm you, he will be subject to my wrath."

Abbie's eyes glimmered as more tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. "I love you so much," Abbie whispered before hugging Katrina tightly around the waist.

Katrina felt her breath hitch and engulfed Abbie in an embrace. Though she knew Abbie obviously intended her admission to be purely platonic, Katrina couldn't help but wholeheartedly respond, "And I you, Abbie. And I, you…"

  
~*~  


It had been some time since Ichabod had written a letter to a lady. Even longer since he had written one to a lady with the intent to ask for a social call. But given the circumstances, he was at a loss as to how to even start the damn thing. So far all he had managed was _Dear Miss Mills_...

This wasn't as the letters in his past where there had been flirtation and heated glances before he grew bold enough to ask for a social call. It was to his fiancée, yes, but he knew hardly more than her name and the fact she enjoyed a good book.

_Dear Miss Mills_

_I hope my letter finds you well after our untimely and traumatic meeting._

He balled the parchment up and tossed it at the rubbish bin. Ichabod groaned and put his face in his hands. He reflected on his earliest days as a young bachelor, how his father tried to teach him the ins and outs of writing a letter to a lover.

_Write as though you have already won their heart but they don't know it yet_ , his father had told him. 

_"Is that what you did for Mum?"_

_His father was silent for a moment before replying, "Your mother and I were friends for a long time before we wed. We were beyond such trivialities. Besides, your mother is not the sort to be won with pretty words."_

_"Then who did you write letters to?"_

_His father smiled fondly. "That is a conversation for another day."_

Ichabod took in a deep breath and tried again. He put it into his head to pretend he was writing a letter to the strong-minded Elizabeth Bennett and that he was begging her humble apologies for a social disaster of his making. It was then the words began to flow.

_Dear Miss Mills,_

_I hope my letter finds you and your family well. While the circumstances of our first meeting were not exactly ideal, I do hope we can at least attempt civility in order to make the best of an undesirable situation. With your gracious permission, I would like to invite you to Oak Post for a social call or I could come to your home, whichever puts your mind at ease. I would quite enjoy speaking at length about our favorite books and characters again. Perhaps even find out why you see so much of yourself in the tenacious Miss Bennett._

Ichabod's gaze fell to a book nearby, bits of different colored ribbon marking his favorites among the tome. He wondered if Miss Mills had read the works of Robert Burns.

_If that is not to your liking, we could discuss one of the works I marked in the book Oswald has undoubtedly already presented to you. Or we could speak of one of your favorites, I have all of them memorized. There is also the option of selecting a work from your own book collection, which I imagine to rival my own._

“Ichabod, you are rambling,” he muttered to himself. Say what couldn’t be said in person.

_I look forward to your response._

_Abruptly Yours,_

_Ichabod Crane_

  
~*~  


Abbie stared at the letter in her hands. She turned it over and then back right to read over it again. She wasn't entirely sure what she was looking for, or if she was even actually looking for something. Perhaps she was looking for words hidden in code between the tidily scripted letters.

Something.

Anything.

Just a clue as to why Ichabod Crane seemed legitimately concerned for her. She looked at the book in her lap, full of colorful ribbons. He was inviting her to speak about poetry or books, or something else to her liking. What sort of gentleman did that? All the others had spoken of the horse races and other gentlemanly things, often giving her nothing to talk about in return.

A gentleman that relates to Bingley, her bemused internal voice chimed. Someone that is concerned about others and how they feel. Someone that wants to win the approval of another. Was he trying to win her approval? Her approval meant that much to him?

She raised her head to peer at the boy that had delivered the missive near the end of breakfast. He was impeccably dressed, but was idly glancing around the room with interest as if committing everything to memory. _Oswald_. She remembered him from the day before when she first visited Oak Post.

A smallish, pale boy with bright red hair and freckles all over his round face. He had smiled when he had poured the tea just yesterday, as though it amused him. She wondered if _he_ was Mister Bandy's son.

No, surely he wouldn't have his son doing the work of a messenger or butler.

The boy sniffled and rocked on his heels, suddenly enraptured by the fleur pattern of the wallpaper. His smile slowly brightened as he admired the paper.

"Oswald?" Abbie called softly.

The boy startled and stood at attention, his chin proudly jutting into the air. Abbie almost snorted at his effort to take his task so seriously. "Yes, miss?"

"Did Mister Crane say what time would be suitable for a call?"

Oswald pursed his lips. He softly muttered, "If she asks about a time…" His eyes lit up. "Whatever time would be most convenient for the lady. He made no plans for the day in hopes he could call upon you or you could come to Oak Post."

Abbie looked around their parlor. They were by no means suited to receive guests at the moment. The curtains needed opened, the house needed dusting… the time without a proper maid had taken its toll on their humble townhome.

"Tell him, I shall be along to Oak Post after lunch but before tea," Abbie said with a gentle smile. Oswald seemed to try and let the information sink in and when he panicked, Abbie hummed. "You know what, Oswald, perhaps it would prove more polite to write him a letter in return. Don’t you agree?"

"Whatever you please, Miss," Oswald stated, but looked infinitely relieved he wouldn't have to personally remember her response.

Abbie went to her father's desk and retrieved a pen and parchment. Her eyes fell to an envelope from Andrew. She took the edge of her fingernail and pushed against it until - somehow - the letter ended up in the rubbish bin. Isn’t that strange?

Abbie took a seat and scratched out her response.

_Dear Mister Crane,_

_I am well, thank you, as is my family. If it pleases you, I will come to Oak Post after lunch today. I will make certain to read a few of your suggestions for an undoubtedly exhilarating literary row as I have found Burns to be rather droll and boring. Perhaps you can change my mind? In addition to poetry, I would also like to utilize some of the time getting to know the man with whom I am being forced into marriage. As you may guess, I am still quite cross about this fact. But I do agree we should try to do our best considering we are both innocently thrust into this situation._

_Unwillingly and Reluctantly,_

_Grace Abigail Mills_


	5. The Queen's Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod must face his fiercest foes yet in order to get the approval of his intended: The Queen's Guard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: general asshattery from Andrew.
> 
> Dance references:  
> Minuet - https://youtu.be/O-a2D0Rwr8w  
> Cotillion - https://youtu.be/pp6hmeJBPzs  
> Waltz - https://youtu.be/tRTVoN95miM  
> Eightsome Reel - https://youtu.be/hvHeTArCnYQ

Ichabod shifted books around on the small coffee table near the couch. He wanted to make a good impression, after all. Normally this would be the sort of task left to a servant, but Ichabod felt this was a task best seen to personally. So his coat was slung over the arm of the couch and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows to permit better maneuverability.

His uncle had just shaken his head with a bemused smile when Ichabod insisted upon being the one to prepare the library for a visit. Ichabod had already dusted it from top to bottom that morning before changing into a proper suit. They had opened the windows and curtains, letting in the gentle smell of wisteria from the gardens. And now he was trying to decide which books would impress his fiancée most and what arrangement would be to her liking.

His hands trembled; good Lord, why were they trembling? He was a grown man, he shouldn't be reduced to a nervous wreck by a beautiful woman!

_A beautiful woman._

He gulped hard at the thought that said beautiful woman was to be his wife in a brief time. His breathing struggled at the thought of their wedding night. While, yes, once upon a time he had been married, and he wasn't exactly inexperienced with women, the day still loomed like a heavy rain cloud over his head. 

When his uncle had been making him recite the list of ladies that were near _the wrong side of thirty_ he hadn't even thought to imagine they might be beautiful. Normally when a well-connected lady made it to almost thirty and was unwed, well… there were - at best - superficial reasons.

Miss Mills was by no means an aging hag. She was… breathtaking. He had thought so before he had known she was to be his bride. He had been casting glances toward her, wondering if he would be too bold to ask for a social call, worrying that she would laugh in his face.

He could count on one finger the number of times he and Betsy had indulged in their marital duties. Upon that solitary finger, he could also count the number of times he had known a woman biblically since their marriage. He fathomed Betsy's experience dwarfed his own by now.

Neither had been keen on their marriage, but he had wanted her to be happy and looked the other way during her indiscretions. He had remained faithful. Mostly because he never truly felt a desire to stray. His father had been faithful to his mother and constantly waxed poetic about finding one's true love and being only with them for the duration of one's life…

It couldn't be his lot in life to forced into marriages he didn't want. Could it?

_I think you might be exactly what she’s been looking for_. Ezra Mills’ words came back to him in that moment. For the life of him, Ichabod couldn’t figure out what he did or said that could make Mister Mills make such a statement. As far as he could recollect, he had been bordering on rude and obnoxious...

"What are you doing?" 

Ichabod looked up at the sound of the soft, curious voice. Abigail stood in the doorway of the library, peering at him incredulously. His face warmed. "I was…"

"Were you putting out books for us?" Ichabod’s heart stammered when she gave him a cheeky smile. 

Oswald peered around Abbie's skirt, cherry-faced and trying to catch his breath. "Miss Mills is here, sir." 

Abbie's eyes danced with laughter. "I'm afraid my petulance got the best of me and I got ahead of Oswald."

The boy hung his head and cast a doe-eyed expression Ichabod's way. "I'm sorry sir…"

Ichabod gave Oswald a smile. More often than not, Oswald was a little slow with his duties when it came to guest arrivals. But that was to be expected, his uncle would say, Oswald was only eleven-not to mention Bandy had hired him as a favor to his former butler who retired last year. He wasn’t particularly old enough to assume the duties of a butler, but he _was_ the perfect age to keep company with Eustace, which was Bandy’s primary reason for agreeing to the arrangement. But the lad was at least eager to learn and was trying as hard as he could. "It's all right, lad, ladies are often quicker than one assumes."

Abbie looked suspiciously close to smiling. “Quite right Mister Crane,” she said primly as she stepped into the room and glanced around. When Oswald shut the door behind her, Abbie jumped and immediately ducked her head in embarrassment. Her eyes flitted to his bare arms. She gulped and glanced away, hiding her face behind her fan as she cleared her throat. "Do you need a moment?"

“Forgive me…” Ichabod blurted. He righted his sleeves and pulled on his jacket. At least now he looked like a somewhat proper gentleman rather than a godless heathen. “I wanted to leave no room for error so I insisted on preparing for your visit personally.”

Abbie closed her fan and tucked it under her arm. Her eyes softened, and she gave him a gentle smile. Ichabod found himself oddly charmed; not only did such a gesture make Abigail more beautiful, but such a minor thing made her seem more _human_. Less intimidating, if he were being honest.

Something in Ichabod’s chest loosened; he returned the smile, holding his hand out to the empty chaise beside him. “Would you like to join me, Miss Mills?” He watched the brief flash of apprehension cross her face before she lifted her chin and strode across the room to meet him.

He sat across from her, on the opposite chaise, his hands on his knees. They stared at each other for a few moments, neither rushing to words. Ichabod’s hands tightened the grip on his legs, trying to keep his fingers from twitching. Now that she was here, he didn’t know what to do next.

God, his uncle was right. He _was_ hopeless.

Abigail’s expression grew more pained as the silence stretched on. “So… it surprised me to receive your letter,” she ventured tentatively.

“I thought it prudent to talk alone before we announced our engagement.” 

“Ah.” Abbie’s eyes glittered with irritation. “How _very_ kind of you.”

Ichabod sighed. “Miss Mills, if you recall when we both found out about our impending nuptials, I protested most ardently. This was not my idea, and I am in this untenable position against my will.”

Abbie looked at him flatly. “So if we are both in agreement that this is the worst idea, do you have a way out of it?”

Ichabod shook his head. “I feel like I have been thinking about nothing else since you departed our house. Unfortunately, no viable alternatives have presented themselves. Have you considered anything I may have overlooked?”

Abbie blinked. She cocked her head as she stared at him. “You’re asking… you’re willing to admit there may be solutions you haven’t considered?” 

The incredulity in her tone told him she wasn’t used to this inquiry from gentlemen which, in Ichabod’s opinion, was a damn shame. Just from what he knew of her, she had a wealth of knowledge and intelligence.

Ichabod frowned. “I am not all-knowing nor do I know anything about your life. You may have found a solution that saves us both on the way over for all I know.”

Abbie just looked at him, then sighed with annoyance. “All my life my actions have been dictated by one man or another. They have all insisted they know better than me because they had the good fortune of being born a man of wealth.”

Ichabod looked slightly distressed. “I empathize the feeling,” he said. “My mother often had the same complaint.”

“But no, I haven’t figured any way out of this mess. Other than running away. But then I think about my poor mother and I couldn’t bear to put her through that.” She shook her head. “The one thing I can’t truly comprehend in this situation is how _you’re_ not already married. You _seem_ like a reasonable enough and likable fellow, and I suppose in certain light your looks could be described as handsome,” Abbie said hastily. “Not to mention you come with the guarantee of a good life, even with your questionable literary preferences. Why haven’t you found a wife yet?”

Ichabod shifted in his seat. “I was married once before,” he admitted. “After multiple discretions, she left, and I… didn't stop her. By then I didn't _want_ to stop her.” 

Abbie frowned. “That’s… that’s horrible,” she said. “No one deserves infidelity. A marriage is a vow that should be taken seriously.”

“I agree,” Ichabod whispered. 

The silence returned, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was nearly companionable. 

“And what of you?” Ichabod asked, curiosity getting the better of him. His fingers fidgeted restlessly on his lap, drawing Abbie’s attention. 

Her brows arched with interest as her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Abbie looked away quickly, clearing her throat and tucking her hair behind her ear. Not that it did much good as the strand of hair decided to once again rebel and sprang free of its prison. “I agree, too,” she said. "I thought that much would be obvious, as I'm the one that said it first."

He shook his head. “No, that’s not what I was asking.”

Abbie chuckled, still unable to look right at him. “I know,” she admitted flatly. “I’ve never been married.”

“I know that as well,” Ichabod said, confused but almost sure he was being played with. Or perhaps she just wasn’t accustomed to men wanting to hear what she had to say. “I am asking why you haven’t found a husband yet.”

Abbie finally looked up at him. “It’s not from lack of trying if that’s what you are wondering,” she said. “I found there were more cads in society than I originally thought. I didn’t - I didn’t want to settle,” she murmured. “But now it seems I have no choice but to do so.”

Ichabod could sympathize, though his pride was a little wounded. “Unfortunately, I always knew if I were to marry again it would only be because someone… _settled_.” He frowned and lowered his gaze to his hands, where he was fisting his trousers restlessly. “So please do not feel you are doing me a disservice.”

“Why do you do that,” Abbie snapped, with no actual heat. 

Ichabod lifted his head. “I beg your pardon?” Her gaze was fixed in on his hands. His face warmed, and he tried his best to still his nervous fingers. That, of course, made them want to rebel even more.

“Do that _thing_ with your stupid face,” she muttered, the words mostly unintelligible. "Why must you speak so negatively about yourself?"

Ichabod glanced around as if someone in the empty library could shed some light on what was going on. “I’m… sorry?” he asked. He was, without a doubt, concerned at any moment she would slap him and storm out, then demand her father reconsider the arrangement. 

While it would be a relief, he couldn't bring himself to admit it would disappoint him. 

Abbie closed her eyes and laughed. Her laughter was a thing of beauty, Ichabod observed. From the way she angled her head away, then lowered her face to hide it behind her fan. _Good God, she was beautiful_. 

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” she said after she finally gathered her breath. “I keep trying to be angry at you but… your face makes that rather impossible,” she admitted, gently fanning her own.

_Was she… flirting_? If she was flirting, this was by far the most interesting technique he had seen.

“One would think that is a valuable trait in a spouse,” Ichabod offered with a faint smile, daring to hope he was right.

“I can think of worse ones,” she said, glancing toward him. She cocked her head and sighed with mock annoyance. "Will you stop that? I find it highly offensive when you do that with your face."

Ichabod stared at her for a long moment, trying to decide precisely what he was doing that was so offensive. When he came up empty-handed, he dared to venture, "What am I doing that you find offensive, so I may stop?"

She shook her head. "I _could_ very well tell you to cease existing but it's something I doubt you can do."

"I could try," Ichabod offered, humor lacing his voice. _She was flirting_ , he decided. _And she was just as bad at it as he_.

It was Abbie's turn to stare, all her humor melted away. "You would… you would honestly curb your own behavior if I found it offensive?" She scoffed lightly when he nodded and her mirth returned. "Bingley indeed…"

Ichabod couldn't help but softly laugh. "What do you have against Bingley? He's one of the nicer characters in the book…"

“He’s a pushover,” Abbie groaned. “And how do you know his niceness isn’t just him trying to make sure people like him? What if, behind closed doors, he’s cruel?”

“Is that what you fear from me,” Ichabod asked. 

Abbie ducked her head bashfully, as though she worried she had offended him. “Yes,” she admitted. “I have experienced men who charm and are the epitome of polite society in public. In private, the complete opposite.” 

"I assure you, I am neither charming in public nor in private," Ichabod deadpanned. "I'm a blundering fool at all times." This earned him a soft snort from Abbie and she opened her fan again to hide a laugh.

Abbie lowered her fan and dabbed at her eye with a lace handkerchief Ichabod had no idea where it came from. "I have had little luck with suitors." 

She shook her head. "They've done their best to change me into something I'm not and that I don't care to ever be… There was even one, which was a dear friend for all of my life, that threatened to tarnish my reputation if I didn’t marry him."

Ichabod reached across to rest his hand on hers. When she bristled, he quickly pulled away. "Forgive me," he muttered, looking away.

She took a deep breath then let it out slowly. "I enjoy politics,” Abbie continued. When he remained attentively quiet, Abbie sighed heavily. “I… am an _avid_ reader, as you already know. I am _very_ outspoken. And I have _no interest_ in being with child within weeks of having borne another." She pinned him with a glare. "If you can handle that, then I suppose we can at the very least be amenable. I _do_ understand that a child is expected right away… and I fully intend to honor that part of the agreement from day one. As long as you don't expect another right away."

Ichabod shook his head. "If it were up to me, we could get to know each other before having _any_ children. But I feel I must warn you, Crane's are rather talented at producing boys. There hasn't been a girl born to our family in seven generations. Although I would _love_ to have a daughter someday...

"And I, too, enjoy reading and politics. Although I am not overly outspoken on… well, anything." Ichabod looked down at his hands. His mother had been a very outspoken woman, his father constantly doing nothing but encouraging her. "I would never dream of silencing you. I may disagree, but I would never, ever, intentionally do anything to discourage you from speaking your thoughts. Especially if you are speaking on something from your own experience."

"Oh." When he looked up at Abbie, she looked stunned. "So… we're in agreement then."

They sat in silence for a moment, regarding each other. When Abbie cleared her throat, Ichabod realized he hadn't offered tea. "How rude of me… Would you care for some tea? Or perhaps something a little stronger would be in order?"

Abbie sighed lightly. Her eyes lingered on his arms and she licked her lips. "I could honestly murder a bottle of sherry right now."

"I just happen to have a bottle," Ichabod offered. As soon as Abbie cocked a curious brow, he jumped to his feet to fetch it.

  
~*~  


Abbie was humming softly as Ichabod helped her into the carriage. She must admit, as soon as he had brought out the sherry, their visit had become tenfold more interesting. Suffice it to say, she had even ventured so far as to invite him to sit with her on her chaise! Hopefully, he hadn’t thought her too bold. Surprisingly, unlike _some_ men- _Andrew and Bram_ -he never once became demanding of anything more than wild anecdotes from her younger days.

She had even permitted him to _hold her hand_! Which had proven to be a distraction in and of itself as he seemed unaware that his fingers stroked her palm in the most enticing manner.

It was refreshing, to be honest. She wondered how long he would behave thusly before his true colors showed. " _Bingley_ ," she scoffed quietly as she settled into the carriage to go home. Honestly, she wasn't about to let that go anytime soon.

"What are you doing?" Abbie squeaked when Ichabod plopped down in the seat across from her.

"I'm… escorting you home, madam," he said, his voice slurring slightly. "I wouldn’t dream of letting a lady in your state return home alone. I will hear no objections. None.. Unless you have them. Which then I shall honor them. Would you like for me to leave you to journey home alone, Miss Mills?"

“I think it would be nice to have company on the ride home,” Abbie replied cheerily. “So please stay, Mister Crane.”

Ichabod gave an overly elaborate bow. “As m’lady wishes.”

Abbie snorted and giggled as the carriage door was closed. She jostled forward when the driver started the carriage down the path and she fell into Ichabod's lap. With a gasp, she righted herself and swatted his arm, or rather intended to swat his arm. Instead, she ended up stroking it. She had also somehow ended up seated beside him, leaning on him like a wanton woman, her breasts pressed into his chest. "I warrant you bribed the driver to take off like that so I would fall into your lap!"

“Has that happened before?” Ichabod asked in surprise, jostled himself.

Abbie laughed at his face. “Yes. Except I fell right into his lap. Like this.” She stood - short enough to do so in the carriage without even brushing the ceiling - and due to the mix of inebriation and inertia fell onto him with abandon, her bosom in his face.

“Those cads,” Ichabod gasped, slightly muffled against her chest. He grasped her waist and lifted her enough to settle her on his lap. "Are you alright, Miss Mills?"

Up close, Abbie discovered, his face was even more offensive and stupid. Honestly, his eyes had no business being that wide and bright! She could only hum in affirmation and nod as she rested her head on his shoulder. Her brows arched with interest as a peculiar smell tickled her nose. She nuzzled his neck, chasing the delightful scent. Abbie was only vaguely aware of Ichabod sucking in a sharp breath and his fingers flexing against her waist.

She couldn’t put her finger on it as she rubbed her cheek against the column of his throat. He softly whispered her name, his voice trembling with longing. 

"You smell nice,” she murmured. “Like… Like leather and paper. And…” Abbie inhaled deeply, curling her fingers against the nape of Ichabod’s neck. “You remind me of autumn wind.” She leaned back and beamed at him, happy to have _solved_ the mystery. 

"That's rather impolite, you got to sniff at me, yet I did not get to have as thorough a sampling," Ichabod said, his voice a gentle rumble.

"What's stopping you?" Abbie asked, studying his stupid, stupid face. Honestly, what was a lady supposed to do with a man with such a stupid face? He looked positively drun--oh right. She supposed he _was_ a bit on the tipsy side, just as she.

"You didn't give me permission," he grumped.

"Well, you're my fiancé, I imagine you can do _whatever_ you’d like to me, sir, and no one would say a word," Abbie replied, suggestively shifting on his lap. She tapped the tip of his nose playfully. 

"I would have several words to say," Ichabod murmured. 

Abbie felt a surge of energy shudder through her body as Ichabod's eyes darkened. "But, if you insist…" she hummed then tilted her head to grant him access to her throat. "You have my permission, sniff away Mister Crane."

Abbie gasped softly as he cupped her cheek, his thumb gently stroking her bottom lip as he leaned in. He nuzzled her jaw and hummed with contentment. "Is that coconut," he asked quietly. "And… vanilla?"

Abbie shivered at his warm breath on her skin as she nodded. She almost melted in his embrace when she felt his tongue on her skin. Honestly! Who gave him the right to make her feel so… _good_? 

"Mmhmm," Abbie managed. This was like nothing she had experienced with her former paramours. A soft moan slipped from her lips when he continued to softly nuzzle her jaw. She pulled away just enough to turn her head to look at him. It was most unfortunate that he just happened to try and follow her retreating face so that when she did turn, his lips crashed right into her own.

Warmth tingled through Abbie's body as she parted her lips. Ichabod eagerly took her small invitation and kissed her fully, the hand at her cheek sliding behind her neck. Abbie couldn't help but think… it was rather nice. Actually, it was more than rather nice. When they broke apart, both were breathing heavily and there was so much heat in Ichabod’s gaze Abbie felt her whole body respond, tightening with desire. 

“So if I asked you to keep touching me, would you?” she asked breathlessly. 

"How would you like to be touched?" He cupped her cheek, his thumb idly stroking just below her lips. “Show me… what you would like.”

"What _I_ would like?" Abbie searched his face. Abbie undid the pin holding her shawl and dropped it from her shoulders, revealing the dress beneath. She stood again and gathered her skirts, watching Ichabod's eyes widen in surprise as she showed off more leg than considered proper. 

There was something thrilling about the carriage curtains being open as they moved down the streets, the rapidly approaching dusk, casting shadows on them.

Swallowing hard, Abbie settled back onto his lap, this time straddling his legs. She ducked her head shyly. "I'm not sure," she admitted softly. "You're the one who has been married. Why don’t I bow to your experience?" Abbie said as she bared her neck, the act presenting her chest to his gaze. 

He eyed her bodice greedily before giving it a gentle tug. Abbie gasped as her breasts spilled free from both her stay and bodice then he buried his face between them. His hands spanned her waist with ease, pulling her closer. After spending so much time watching his tempestuous hands flutter about and rubbing his own knee during her visit, it felt delightful to have them on more than just her hand.

His lips coaxed a breast from her stay and he latched on to the nipple, sucking deeply. Abbie felt an indecent jolt between her thighs and whimpered softly. _He was her fiancé_ , she reminded herself. It not only wasn't unheard of for a couple to begin early on trying to get their family started but it _was_ sort of expected.

Ichabod lifted his head. "Should I stop?"

Abbie shook her head, grinding down against the front of his trousers to relieve the ache between her legs. She shuddered as the material only made it worse and it made her aware of the hardness in Ichabod's trousers. “Touch me, however you please. I won’t deny you,” Abbie whispered.

The gentle rock of the carriage only seemed to amplify everything. Ichabod slid a hand beneath her skirts. "Shall I touch you here," he asked, his fingers seeking her most intimate flesh.

" _Mister_ Crane," Abbie gasped in mock scandal. There had only been a few other people that had touched her in such an intimate manner. One had been - someone else, after a few sips of sherry emboldened her. She quickly shoved the last thought aside in favor of Ichabod's skilled fingers.

One of the others had been when she was barely twenty; she and Katrina had shared a bed. Abbie had been suffering from the aching in the pit of her belly and Katrina had whispered what she did when it happened to her. Katrina had been very helpful in showing Abbie what to do numerous times since then. The two of them performed the act on each other fairly often, as it always seemed to feel better when someone else did it. On more than one occasion, Katrina had even used her mouth!

As for the others… There was a reason she and Katrina were such best friends with Zoe and Mary.

Abbie wondered if Ichabod knew of using one's mouth to gratify a woman. Her answer soon came when, after only touching her briefly, he growled softly and stood, before depositing her on the bench. He dropped to his knees, gathering her skirts and spreading her thighs.

"If I may, my lady?" His bright blue eyes were lust blown so Abbie could do nothing more than nod. 

The moment his warm, wet tongue touched her intimate flesh, Abbie keened. However, he did not relent; he continued on his quest to pleasure her - licking, sucking, and even lightly nibbling at her core.

When Abbie glanced down, all she could see was his face between her thighs, his eyes still glittering wickedly, intent on her own, as he feasted. Ichabod pulled away long enough to put two of his own fingers in his mouth to dampen them. He watched her face as those two fingers pushed inside of her. Abbie gasped, he smirked and returned his lips to her core as his fingers pumped into her body.

Her hand came to rest upon his head while the other, she bit down on her knuckles to keep from groaning so loud the driver would become concerned. She bit down harder when Ichabod moaned; the vibration making her body jerk with euphoria. When it became too much, Abbie instead grasped the bench, her head thrown back in ecstasy as she whimpered and shouted Ichabod's name. Her hips seemed to have gained a mind of their own as they thrust and rotated of their own volition. 

Finally, Ichabod raised his head, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips as he brought the two fingers that had been inside of her to his lips once again. Abbie felt her heart flutter as he sucked them clean. " _Mister Crane_ , however did you learn such a thing could pleasure a woman so much?"

"You would call that pleasure, Miss Mills," he rasped, leaning over her, bracing himself with the back of the bench. "I have yet to fully give you pleasure. But I am afraid that must await our wedding night."

"Must it," Abbie asked. "I would never tell… we _are_ engaged. Surely you wouldn't leave a lady so unsatisfied?"

"If that is what you desire, my lady," he replied. When she nodded, he sat back on his heels and unfastened the buttons of his trousers. Abbie's eyes widened when his manhood bobbed to attention as he pushed his trousers down his thighs. Abbie grasped his turgid length, marveling at its massive size. He grasped her hips to hold her in place, then sank into her with ease. 

Abbie's lips parted, and she choked on a moan as he filled her. " _Good heavens, Mister Crane_ ," she gasped as he began to thrust between her thighs. She had merely believed the talents of his mouth were the height of pleasure. His cock was absolute rapture. The harder he thrust into her, the less she could contain her moans and screams. Her body trembled and quaked with release as he pushed into her harder… faster…

"Miss Mills… you delightfully wanton woman," Ichabod growled, nipping at her jaw. "My cock loves being inside of you… I cannot wait to make you my wife… You shall have my cock nightly…"

Oh, she wouldn't complain at all if this was what was to come! His words made her body shiver and shake. Her back arched toward the ceiling as the pleasure became too much to handle. Her thighs trembled as she met her release.

_Miss Mills_!

Abbie jerked awake and shook her head, blinking at the fresh-faced maid that had shaken her awake. Danielle's eyes were wide with concern. "Are you alright, Miss Mills? I brought your morning tea, and you were sleeping rather fitfully. Moaning and thrashing about. I feared you were having a nightmare."

"I'm fine…" Clearing her throat, Abbie sat up and took in her surroundings. "Danielle? What are you doing here?"

Danielle smiled sweetly. "Your father said my services were required, if I was willing. And I was, so here I am. Me and the others are busy getting the house ready for tonight. I was explicitly told to assist you, m'lady."

"Thank you, Danielle," Abbie said meekly. "Your presence has been sorely missed."

Danielle bobbed down with a quick curtsey. "Thank you, ma'am. If you need anything, let me know. I'll be getting your dress for tonight ready and Natalie should be along shortly after breakfast to start your hair."

Abbie plastered on a smile and nodded as Danielle hurried across the room to see to the chamber pot and other cleanings. Abbie sipped at the cup of tea that was sitting, waiting for her. Her eyes fell to the book next to her. 

_Fanny Hill: or, the Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure_ , surely that caused such a salacious dream? It _had_ to be. Surely she was projecting when she dreamt of her soon-to-be husband being… likened to a stud horse. That would teach her to ask for the most risque thing on Ichabod's shelves when he asked if she wished to take home something to read.

She had thought she was being clever. But oh, how she had underestimated his reading materials! She had nearly broken her fan, cooling herself the night before. She only had herself to blame, especially when her own hand had become _frisky_. Abbie knew she couldn't very well thrust the book back into his hands and ask _how dare he_ when she had _asked_ for it. Nay… she had outright _insisted_.

The last few days she had taken to visiting her fiancé every afternoon, after lunch. Each day they would talk about books and politics. It pleased her to discover they had very similar political interests. 

They had been speaking of a political scandal. They had caught one gentleman in the house of Lords being indiscreet with his chambermaid. The Lordship had blamed his reading materials for putting such lustful thoughts in his head about his chambermaid, leading to his seducing her.

Unfortunately, Ichabod’s stupid face got the best of her when she tried to puff herself up. She had primly stated she was not above reading a salacious story or two so she knew about the things man and woman would do… but that didn’t mean she will throw herself into the arms of any man that treated her nicely. 

Ichabod had been dubious about her claim of reading racy literature. That was when they started talking about some of their favorite _risque_ writings and why they were their favored ones. Abbie had hoped, perhaps, to have him run to his uncle and demand the wedding be called off. She had never fathomed he would _admit_ to reading salacious content. 

To a lady at least!

The fact she had been getting hot under the collar had made her fidget and shift around in her seat. Thankfully, he took it as social discomfort and had asked if she wanted to talk about other things. 

The nerve! How _dare he_ be observant and considerate of her feelings! Abbie sighed when that thought seemed silly, even in her own head.

When the time came for her to leave and he offered her the chance to pick a tome from his collection, she had _insisted_ on taking the most salacious book he possessed. To prove that she was _not_ unnerved by naughty books.

Heavens, had he delivered… most men wouldn't have dared.

Abbie imagined she would think about the contents of the book for days to come. So, she would do as any sensible woman and thank him kindly for it when she returned it after the party tonight.

Abbie suddenly felt her soul drop. The party tonight… where they would announce their engagement. She had to not only have her hair and dress perfect, but she needed to work on seeming authentically happy by that night. 

Parts of her _did_ seem to perk up when she was around Ichabod and not parts she was at liberty to speak about. It was the same parts that were excited from her dream. She just wished she knew why the dream had decided to use that first day's carriage ride home as _inspiration_. 

Yes they had both had a nip to drink and she _had_ fallen into him when the carriage departed. But everything else from there was in her own head. Her own thoughts!

It could have been the way he had, so improperly had his shirtsleeves rolled up when she had arrived. What sort of gentleman did that? It was just as scandalous as her showing off her legs to his gaze. 

Abbie felt her face warm as she recalled the lustful gaze he had been giving her in her dream, from between her thighs. It was a look he had given her quite a few times while in the heat of discussion; also when she had given him the impertinent _give it to me, Mister Crane_ as he had been mentally wrestling with himself over letting her borrow the book. She wouldn’t lie. She rather liked the look.

Abbie flopped back against her bed and groaned with frustration. "Urgh. Damn his stupid face."

  
~*~  


Ichabod had to hand it to the Mills family. They certainly knew how to have a party. While the Corinth party had undoubted just been getting _properly_ started when he had arrived to it--but not the sort of party a female fancying lad would partake in given Mister Corinth's reputation as a _man's_ man--the Mills event was in full swing within the first hour.

He remembered the almost weekly parties his parents would have: lavish and indulgent to the highest degree. There would always be the actual party where everyone came and smashed a glass of wine. Then there was the after-party which included only their closest friends and he got scooted off to bed.

From what it seemed, everyone was Ezra Mills' closest friend. There was scarcely a soul who didn't receive a hug when Ezra greeted them. Even his uncle received the coveted hug after Ezra gave their tartan kilts a curious glance. Ichabod himself received a firm handshake.

"Miss… Lori Roberts, Ezra didn't say _you_ were his wife," Bandy greeted the woman standing next to Ezra. "Good Lord you just as beautiful as last I saw you…"

Mrs. Mills, looking stunning in a pink frock and her dark coils adorned with gold leaves, put her hand to her chest. "Little Bandicoot, is that… what a pleasant surprise!"

She hugged Bandy tightly while Ezra cast a speculative gaze at both Bandy and Lori. "It's _Mrs. Mills_ now," Ezra injected. Lori gave him a playful swat on the arm.

"She was being courted by my eldest brother long ago. Neither of our sires approved, so the engagement fell to the wayside," Bandy explained. "You know, looking at me, you'd think I was the elder one… Miss Lori, this is my nephew, Ichabod."

Ichabod stood straight as a rod as Miss Lori looked him over. "Relax, boy, I don't bite. Oh, he is very handsome, isn't he? Looks a lot like Old Nebby."

Ichabod took her offered hand and bowed over it. "So I'm told, although I am also told that I behave as his opposite."

Lori nodded. "That's splendid news to my poor heart." She put her free hand over her heart to emphasize her point. "Abigail should be floating around with her friends somewhere. Probably judging everyone's outfits."

Ichabod moved away from the receiving line and scanned the crowd for his fiancée. Just as Miss Lori predicted, he spotted her across the room, near the stairs with three other women. One he recognized as Miss Corinth. The other two, besides Abbie, were strangers to him.

They were flocked together, ducking towards each other with the shield of their fans as they pointed out a person on the dance floor. Ichabod stood there and watched Abbie, marveling at how her head fell back as she laughed so openly. His heart ached, wondering if he could ever make her laugh in such a manner.

Ichabod was jostled out of his revelry by his uncle lightly elbowing him in the arm. Bandy nodded toward Abbie. "If you want to get in her heart, endear yourself to her friends," Bandy stated. "Or at least have a few dances with Abigail. She's your fiancée already, so the hard part is done."

When Ichabod opened his mouth to object, Bandy interrupted him. "You won't be bothering her. That's the whole point of these events, lad. Now go. Go dance with your fiancée, make a few people have whispers about what's going on between you so they feel foolish when we announce the engagement."

Taking a deep breath, Ichabod nodded firmly. He strode purposefully across the room. It was Abbie that first met his gaze, and his step faltered for a moment. She hid her face behind her fan to whisper to her friends, which made them all pin him a hard stare. 

He nodded in acknowledgment and their eyes instantly dropped to his kilt before they exchanged curious glances.

The first to step forward was Miss Corinth, her chin jutted into the air stubbornly. "You think you can just waltz on over and take our friend from us?"

"Absolutely not," Ichabod replied, shaking his head. "Primarily because this is a minuet. But also because I felt it only right to acquaint myself with my Queen's guard."

"Queen's guard indeed," a smart-looking woman in a black dress stated as she stepped forward. "As you know, no one can get too close to royalty without proper clearance."

The third woman, a woman with bright red hair, stepped forward. "So yes, we're afraid you must first get _our_ permission before we'll allow you to speak to our precious Abigail."

Ichabod glanced over their heads to Abbie. She hid most of her face behind a lace fan, but her eyes were twinkling with amusement over it. "Then, Miss Corinth, may I be so humble as to receive this dance with you?"

"You may if I can have a name first," Miss Corinth said primly. "I failed to get it at my party last week."

"Ichabod Crane at your service ladies," Ichabod said, bowing to each woman. He offered his hand to the youngest of the group. "If I may, Miss Corinth?"

She placed her hand in his, and Ichabod swept her out onto the ballroom floor. The minuet, by nature, did not permit much closeness on the ballroom floor, but at every available moment, Miss Corinth quizzed him non-stop. He dared to say she almost seemed like she was intentionally being annoying.

_Have you reacquainted yourself with London? What was America like? What are your thoughts on the progressive party?_

The dance forced Ichabod to answer while he was escorting her back to Abigail and the others. The red-head, it seemed, had been in another group for the minuet and returned in a huff, rolling her eyes.

Abbie and the half-mourning woman were in a fit of giggles as the redhead raged about a man named _Bram_. She shook her head, her auburn curls bouncing, "I told him under no circumstances would he get another dance after how he treated Abigail…" she said mournfully.

"He's all yours Mary," Miss Corinth said, giving the half-mourning woman a small curtsey. Abbie looked impressed.

The woman in the black dress stepped forward, offering her hand. "Mary Wells, sir," she chided. "It's a pleasure to meet you. And may I ask why you and your uncle are wearing skirts this evening?"

Ichabod chuckled and he could hear Abbie's aghast _Mary!_ as he led her to the ballroom floor for a cotillion. While their conversation was minimal, he got the impression that Mary was judging him the entire time. Any time he made a misstep, she cocked a brow and hummed shortly.

Once it was done and he was walking back, Mary admitted, "I'm not much for dancing. I would much rather admire the frivolity and glam from the safety of somewhere I can have a glass of sherry…" she stopped a youthful woman who barely looked old enough to join the festivities. "Tiffany, love, those are stunning hairpins, please see me later so I can find out where you got them."

The girl looked at Mary with almost hero worship on her face and nodded before scampering away.

"I have a love of fashionable accessories," Mary commented.

"You can always judge someone by their accessories, my father would always say," Ichabod stated.

"Clever man," Mary nodded. She curtsied to the redhead. "Tear him to shreds, darling."

The redhead, much to his surprise, stood almost as tall as he. She tilted her head up elegantly. She bowed her head. "Katrina Van Tassel," she said shortly. Her eyes lit up as the music changed to a waltz. "Oh, perfect…"

She gave him an almost predatory smile and dragged him to the ballroom floor. While the last two dances hadn't allotted the closeness to permit much talk, the waltz was different. And Katrina seemed prepared to take full advantage.

"Should I be concerned,” he asked dryly as they spun about the room. As they spun back around to where Abbie stood Katrina turned and made a comical face at her friends as they moved past. 

“No. Anyone who would have made it to the announcement of engagement with our dear Abigail would get the same treatment,” Katrina said.

“I am honestly astonished no one has,” Ichabod admitted.

“Our lovely lady is particular,” she said primly. 

Ichabod was very aware Katrina was practically staring a hole into his profile. “Is there something amiss with my face?” he asked. “Abigail constantly comments its stupid, so, please forgive me. As soon as I figure out what is so stupid about it, I intend to remedy it to the best of my ability.”

She quickly hid a small laugh. “No, I’m trying to figure out why I like you,” she said bluntly. "It's unusual for me to like someone right away. Especially when Abigail is involved."

“Is it that I will do my best to make Abigail happy?”

Katrina’s smile turned wan. “Others promised that, but were too concerned with themselves.”

“Is it that I will do my best to prove myself worthy of her?” Ichabod tried.

She shrugged and leaned into the turn gracefully. “Others have vowed to prove their worth. But they seemed to think it was she that had to prove hers.”

“Then it must be that I will respect her and honor her autonomy above all else,” Ichabod proclaimed, and frowned in concern when Katrina nearly stumbled. “Are you alright?” he asked. “Do you wish to stop?”

Katrina shook her head quickly. “No. I’m fine, thank you,” she murmured. They remained silent for the next two turns, her gaze turning away every time he looked at her. The mood had turned quite sour, he thought, and there was the familiar dropping sensation just behind his navel - somewhere he’d made a faux pas and as always Ichabod was unaware of what he’d done and how to fix it. Just as he was about to apologize, Katrina spoke again. 

"You must understand, I love Abbie dearly. If anyone on this planet claimed to know her better than myself, I would fight them," she said. "Abbie would never tell you this, but she is very partial to her maid, Danielle. It would win you significant favor if you were to find a place in your home for her,” she said stiffly.

Ichabod blinked and realized what he’d been given. “Done,” he said immediately. 

“That easy, huh?” Katrina chided. 

“I want Abigail to be happy,” Ichabod responded. “I will do more than just say those words. I mean them.”

“She likes her tea very sweet. _Painfully_ sweet,” Katrina muttered after a pregnant pause. “And she loves a good sherry. She also has a difficult time being direct with her feelings. Abbie’s very…” She searched for a word to embody the fire and tenacity of her oldest and dearest friend. “Perceptive, I think is the best word. But it extends to others rather than herself. She doesn’t really delve into the reasons of her inner life, and she’s very guarded. More so in the past few months than ever. Despite our closeness, I haven't been able to discover why… but I do know it involves our mutual friend Andrew."

“I shall stand guard with her,” Ichabod said. "I will give her the time she needs to trust me as she does you."

Katrina’s cheeks colored as the music wound down. “Well,” she said as she opened her fan to cool her face. 

Ichabod escorted her back, his chest almost puffed with the feeling that he’d just passed a test. Funnily enough, he meant every word. Inexorably his eyes gravitated toward his _fiancée_ as he moved closer. 

“I’m still alive,” Katrina announced dramatically, curtsying with a flourish as the other three women clapped politely. 

Abbie smothered her smile. “And?”

“And…” Katrina grinned. “I think he’d like to dance with his fiancée.”

Abbie’s eyes widened as Katrina stepped aside. The music receded behind the sound of her heart beating in her ears, but her body responded with societal conditioning, and she snapped her fan closed and stepped forward to put her hand in Ichabod’s open hand.

  
~*~  


“Enter.” Andy waited patiently for his manservant Oliver to enter and close the door of the carriage behind him.

“Master Books, here is the information from the clerk at the bank.”

Andy accepted and opened the offered envelope, turning up the gas lamp mounted by his head to read. He quickly skimmed the missive and frowned, his jaw clenched in anger. “When did this happen?” he asked quietly. 

Oliver shifted uncomfortably. "Earlier this week, sir," he replied.

Andy ground his teeth as he balled up the missive. He had only just returned from a business endeavor in France. His plan had been simple: Acquire the Mills debt just before foreclosure was imminent, present the letter of payment to Ezra at their come out, and demand repayment by marriage to Abbie. 

He was evidently a few days too late. The debts had all just _disappeared_. That could only mean one thing… Abbie had gotten engaged to someone with the means to clear up Ezra’s debts.

With a slight grunt of frustration, he backhanded Oliver across the face. The other young man cowered in the carriage's corner, holding his now bloodied lip, eyes wide with fear. Andy threw the missive at him and kicked at the bench across from him.

"This was my only chance!" Andy bellowed. Tears stung his eyes, so he pinched the bridge of his nose until they subsided. "This was my only means of getting Abigail's hand diplomatically."

Oliver slowly lowered his defenses, but kept them ready just in case his lord lashed out again. "Sir, there are many beautiful young women at court…" He cringed when Andy glared at him, raising his hands to block a blow that was undoubtedly soon to come.

"One of those _peasants_ that look down their nose at me?" Andy scoffed. "Abigail is one of only two people that has ever accepted me…"

"Then why not ask for the hand of the other, sir. Miss Van Tassel is well connected… easy on the eye…"

Andy mulled it over in his head. While most gentlemen would jump at the chance to have a young woman like Katrina, Andy had seen something most seemed to ignore--the way she admired Abbie.

The way Katrina fawned over Abbie was beyond proper behavior for a mere friend. More often than not, Abbie and Katrina shared the aura of secret lovers. They would cuddle together and giggle at secrets that only lovers would know. Katrina would caress Abbie's face and freely place a kiss upon her sun-warmed cheek. Their fingers would entwine in their laps as they laid against the trunk of a tree…

No. Andy could never marry Katrina. He hated her for having everything he had ever wanted. He would sooner strangle the life from her ivory throat than anything. In fact, if he could get Abbie’s hand, Katrina would be the _first_ thing to disappear as Abbie started her new life.

"No," Andy grumped. He sighed heavily and knocked on the wood behind his head. "Stephen, never mind the Mills party. Take me home."

He had to think of another way to get Abbie's hand from whoever had slipped in behind him. Something he could use to his advantage. Something that would leave her with no other options… he supposed it was time to let everyone know the _real truth_ about her horse-riding accident.

  
~*~  


Abbie fanned herself delicately as she seated herself on an ottoman in the Mills study. "Forgive me, Mister Crane," she muttered. "I needed a breath away from all the others for a moment and… you are quite the dance partner." She laughed softly. "Are your toes alright?"

"Perfectly fine, Miss Mills, I felt not a single one of the twelve stomps upon my toes while we danced," Ichabod teased. He wasn't sure when he had gone from being wholly objecting to their impending union to pleasantly expecting it. 

Abbie peered up at him, slack-jawed, then clamped her mouth shut before she was overcome with giggles. “Not a solitary one of the twelve? Are you sure that’s all it was?” She patted the seat next to her so he eased down beside her.

“I’m certain,” Ichabod laughed, resting his forehead against hers. He brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed it before releasing it. They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment before they both pulled away and scooted a customary three inches away.

Plenty of young men had tried to ask for a dance from Abbie, but she had informed them that her dance card was full. Whispers had already started amongst the party-goers. More than once, Ichabod had seen young men scowling at him - although he didn't know if it was because of all the dances with the most beautiful woman at the party or if it was because there were apparently many young women that wished he would ask for a place on _their_ cards.

For now, his fiancée needed a breath, so they were taking a breather in the Mills study. Undoubtedly someone had seen them steal away and the whispers would become ten-fold. It held a purpose, though. Planned by his uncle, mostly. Make the people whisper, then when their engagement was announced… there would be a chorus of exclamations as they realized they had been gossiping about an engaged couple all night.

If there was anything Bandy enjoyed, it was making British socialites feel like fools.

Abbie sighed softly and shook her head. "I suppose I can finally retire this after the season is done," she said, indicating her fan.

Ichabod cocked a brow. "I don't see why, it's lovely."

She grinned wickedly and flicked a latch at the base of the fan. Ichabod's brows arched as she pulled one of the supports from the base… it was in fact a small knife. She playfully jutted the tip just above the button of his trousers. "I would have no need to keep those that wish to press their luck at bay."

Ichabod marveled at the contraption. "This is clever," he mentioned. Abbie handed over the fan portion for him to explore while she kept the blade in her lap. "I had no idea they made these…"

"A special order from a German craftsman," Abbie preened. “I’ve had it for years.”

"I'm not normally one to advocate the carrying of weapons," Ichabod stated. "But until men can learn to behave themselves, every woman should have one of these… so clever…" Suddenly a thought occurred to him and he stared at his future bride. "You've never had to use it, have you?"

"I've had to make a threat or two, yes," Abbie said. "But I was fortunate that the threat worked, and they left me be. Of course, it's only useful when I have it." Her smile faded for a moment, as though recollecting a time she didn't have it.

Ichabod carefully folded the fan and presented it back to Abbie. "It's an outstanding idea to keep something like this on your person at all times. Especially here in London."

"So you would be comfortable knowing your wife had a knife on her person at all times?" Abbie gave him a speculative gaze.

"If that's what it took for her to feel safe," Ichabod replied. "Then who am I to judge? Bandy still goes through the house at night, making certain they latch all the doors, despite the fact the servants do that very thing before they retire for the evening."

Ichabod could also recall the tale of how Bandy started doing so because Nebuchadnezzar would burst into their rooms as children and beat them for no reason… and Bandy had been his favorite target. Latching the door gave his brothers enough time to shield their youngest brother before their father unlocked the door.

"Perhaps I _will_ keep it then," Abbie smiled. She slipped the knife back into place, then set the fan down next to her. "It _is_ lovely."

For a moment, Ichabod reached for Abbie's hands but pulled back at the last moment and settled his hands into his own lap. "Miss Mills, if… I may have permission to speak boldly?"

"Of course," Abbie replied, resting her hands on his.

Ichabod turned his hands over and lightly squeezed her fingers. He looked into her dark eyes, wide with wonder. Reaching up with one hand, Ichabod touched her cheek. "Although we both objected to this union… each moment I spend with you, I find myself less apprehensive about it."

"Oh," Abbie breathed. And not a good sort of "oh". It was the sort of _oh_ that came with disappointment. She shook her head. "Sorry… I just… you seem so kind and generous. I just… I constantly worry that you will turn out like the others. I _want_ to like you. You are likable. It's just… so was Luke. So was Daniel. And Calvin. And Bram. And… Andrew, whom I had been friends with my entire life, proved that he was nothing more than a cad…"

She searched his face. "Can you truly promise me you are nothing like them?"

"All I can do, Miss Mills, is vow to spend every waking moment trying to prove I am worthy of you," Ichabod said. "I can promise you I am nothing like them, but what use are pretty words? All I can do is show you, through my actions, that I am not. And continue to do so until your heart is at ease."

"Then I suppose that is all I could hope for," Abbie whispered.

He delicately stroked the soft skin between the sleeve of Abbie's gown and her glove. In all earnest, Ichabod had intended to slide his hand back down to the others in his lap. Instead, the button on his sleeve caught the edge of her glove and yanked it down her arm. Abbie gasped softly, her eyes widening.

"Mister Crane," she sighed. "How dare you…"

Before he could apologize, Abbie slipped her hand from the glove and pressed her lips to his. Ichabod couldn't resist… What man could? He feasted himself upon her mouth, drinking her in, tasting her in full. When she moaned softly and parted her lips, Ichabod tasted her more deeply.

Abbie leaned towards him, her small hands resting on his thighs as she rose to her feet. Her hands slid up his chest and wrapped around his shoulders as she settled onto his lap. Ichabod groaned and grasped her posterior, pulling her closer as they kissed. It had seemed so effortless, becoming bewitched by the woman in his arms.

A small surprised sound slipped from Abbie's lips as she ground down against him. She pulled her head back, her mouth forming a gentle "o" of scandal. "Mister Crane," she admonished. "Have you become aroused?"

Ichabod felt his face warm but then Abbie smirked wickedly, mischief burning in her eyes. His embarrassment fled to the wayside. "I would imagine it was obvious, madam," he murmured, thrusting up against her.

"Whatever shall a lady do about it," Abbie retorted with unladylike sauciness.

"Whatever she pleases," Ichabod replied, taking her face in his hands.

His breath hitched in his throat and time seemed to stand still all around him when Abbie cocked a brow. The sound of fabric rustling was deafening, as all other noise had been extinguished, when Abbie gathered her skirts up to her thighs. Taking her cues, he scrambled for the buttons of his trousers.

Abbie gasped softly when his cock was freed from the confines of cotton. "You certainly are intuitive to your lady's needs," she purred, leaning forward to nip at his chin. "An _excellent_ trait in a husband…"

He was about to respond when Abbie sank down upon him, rendering him incapable of making any sound aside from intelligibly noises that slipped from his lips as her velvety warmth surrounded him. Ichabod slid his hands beneath her gown and grasped her hips. "Abbie," he finally gasped.

Abbie hummed blissfully as she gently gyrated her hips, her head falling back. When she began to rise and fall on his lap, it was all he could do to keep himself from exploding inside of her prematurely. He buried his face in the swells of her cleavage, drinking in the smell of vanilla and coconut that had been fueling his dreams for the past week. 

"Ichabod," Abbie moaned. "Ichabod… _Ichabod_!"

Ichabod jerked out of his reverie when Abbie grabbed his hand tightly. Concern was on her face.

"Ichabod," Abbie said frantically. "Are you alright? Your face is flushed… Have you taken a fever?"

Ichabod swallowed hard, still staring at Abbie's exposed arm and his thumb idly stroking the edge of her glove. "Is… is this… East Indian Silk?" His voice absolutely had not squeaked as he quickly pulled his hand away.

Abbie ducked her head shyly and tugged her glove back on properly. She nodded shakily. "It is! It is," she replied. "Perhaps we should return to the party? It's nearly time for the engagement announcement."

"So it is," Ichabod said, quickly vacating the ottoman. He offered his hand to Abbie and assisted her to her feet. "I imagine the chins are absolutely wagging by now."

They would surely wag if they knew what he had just been imagining. Perhaps he was no better than the other men Miss Mills had been courted by. Perhaps he was just as much a cad as they were. 

"Although, since you are my fiancé, I would like to ask one question," Abbie said, leaning close. Her eyes twinkled mischievously when he nodded for her to continue. "Is it true what they say about the wearing of a kilt?"

Ichabod gawked in mock dismay, secretly thrilled at her risque behaviors. "Miss Mills! I will have you know you are the first tonight to call the garment by name… and yes, it is true."

Abbie's eyes lit up, and she opened her fan to hide her face as she laughed as they left the study. She stopped them once they were in the hallway. "Mister Crane… _Ichabod_. I think it only prudent, as we're announcing our engagement, perhaps we should take to using our given names. Although it's worth noting, I prefer being called Abbie."

"Agreed Mi--Abbie," Ichabod murmured. "Although, I must warn you, after they announce the engagement, my uncle intends to have everyone partake in a traditional celebratory dance. I hope you're familiar with the Eightsome Reel."

Abbie shook her head. "Never heard of it."

"That's alright, it's easy to learn," Ichabod said with a grin.

"I love to learn new dances…"

  
~*~  


The Mills party was the talk of the town the following morning, as Andy made his way into the gentleman's club. _Oh the dancing! I suppose all the talk of Ezra being broke was just that… talk. Did you see the gown Miss Van Tassel was wearing! And Old Bandy and his nephew in their kilts, Nebuchadnezzar would be aghast!_

For all intents and purposes, they were right, Andy thought ruefully. Or judging by the bank missive, it had at least seemingly disappeared over night.

Andy slid into the gentleman's lounge and found himself a seat near some of the other lads at the bar. He noticed Bram sitting alone, nursing some kind of dark liquor from a tumbler, the decanter sitting close by, next to the decanter was a book. Andy eased onto the seat next to him.

"Can't go five feet without hearing about Ezra's party last night," Andy chuckled. Bram shot him a weary smirk before knocking back his drink and pouring himself another. 

"Shame you missed it," Bram muttered. "Of all people, I imagined you would be there."

"Business sometimes impedes pleasure," Andy commented. "I heard about you and Abbie…"

"I imagine everyone knows now," Bram scoffed. "Only have myself to blame, I suppose. One can only press their luck so many times before a lady punches him in the family heirlooms. And I thank you show her proper respect. Regardless of how close you are, it's improper to use her given name in public."

"Maybe you still have a chance," Andy ventured, Bram snorted. "No, seriously. I have it on good authority that _Miss Mills_ isn't as good of a catch as one would assume. You could use it to your advantage."

Bram cocked a brow. "Oh?"

Andy nodded. "As you know, she and I have always been close and _personal_ friends," he said, lowering his voice. "She's not the shining virgin she claims to be."

"Oh, she told you of an indiscretion," Bram asked wearily. "I never would imagine a lady trusting a man, no matter how close they are, with such private information."

"I know because I'm the one she had the indiscretion with," Andy sputtered. Sometimes Andy wondered if anyone in this god-forsaken city respected him as a man. Bram peered at him, lowering his glass to the bar.

"Truly?" When Andy nodded, Bram stared at him. Then, after a moment, Bram burst into laughter. He turned toward another man at the bar. "Did you hear that? Andrew is claiming he deflowered Ezra Mills' daughter…" That man also laughed. Bram shook his head. "Do you have any idea how bitter you sound Andrew?"

"But it's true! She told everyone it was a horse-riding accident--"

Bram snorted and barked with laughter again. "First of all, Miss Van Tassel made certain _everyone_ knew of your slight against Miss Mills the night she ended our courtship. Second, she's now engaged to Nebuchadnezzar Crane's grandson." He slid from his seat and towered over Andy. "So, I warrant, keep Miss Mills' name out of your mouth, sir. Unless you want all the fire and fury of Old Neb coming down on your head. If not his fury, then my own." He scoffed and shook his head. "The nerve of _you_ to try to disparage her good name… someone she called a friend."

"Aye, Andrew, if you pressed your luck, where does she keep her knife?" One lad laughed. 

"Where she keeps everything else, I imagine," Andy huffed, his face burning. At this point he didn't know if it was from embarrassment or anger, perhaps both. "In her reticule." At that, all the men in the lounge laughed hard. "I wouldn't know, would I? She welcomed my advances."

"Get out of here, Andrew," Bram snorted. "You're as terrible a friend as you are a liar." Bram sipped his drink. "Perhaps if you burst in on her wedding, she might realize her mistake in overlooking you for all these years." 

Andy knew when he had lost a wager. He had bet on everyone reacting as they always did when hearing of a girl that had been deflowered prematurely. There had been several girls that had fled London when such a rumor came about or having to settle with "whoever would want her."

Obviously, he had thought wrong.


	6. Jitters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theh both have wedding night jitters...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The SF will be slowing down over the next few weeks. We both have some personal issues that need our primary focus. But do not fret, we will continue posting updates just much slower 🙃

Abbie hummed softly as she placed her shoes and gloves in a box and went to place the lid when the enormity of the day finally landed squarely in her chest. She reached out and ran a finger along the date inscribed on the instep of the shoe, a common practice so she would never forget that _these_ were the shoes and gloves worn on her wedding day. 

Her wedding day.

Now that it was over Abbie couldn’t help but laugh at how nervous she had been as the ceremony drew ever nearer. Those days were mostly a blur, but when she woke this morning everything felt clear as crystal even though she felt stuffed full of cotton rather than viscera. It was the last time she would wake unmarried, merely the daughter of her father. 

That was the thought that broke through the fuzzy cotton and returned her emotions to sharpness, and the inevitable panic set in. So many insignificant details of the day attempted to go wrong; every molehill was the mightiest of mountains that threatened to ruin everything. 

So when Bram - of all people! - showed up unannounced just before the wedding, Abbie almost panicked. There was no time to coddle the injured pride of a prior suitor. Instead of rage and threats, Bram quietly took her aside to knock her bonnet over feet. 

_I just want to wish you happiness, Miss Mills, even if it's not with me_. 

If Katrina, Mary, Jenny, and Zoe hadn't been right there, Abbie would’ve had a hard time getting them to believe it. She stammered through a graceful acceptance of his sentiment as her spirits immediately buoyed.

Then Bram warned her about Andrew.

Andrew _had_ attempted to make real on his threat to ruin her name after all! Bram was also highly concerned Andrew would try something stupid to ruin the wedding - which he vowed to take responsibility for should it happen. When he departed the Mills townhome, Abbie experienced a pang in her chest, an odd sense of nostalgia for something she never had, and could do nothing but to wonder how different her life could have been.

Abbie wondered where _this_ Bram had been weeks ago.

Thankfully, her concerns proved to be for naught; the specter that was once her dear friend failed to materialize, and the ceremony went off without a hitch. And now she was in her new home… 

Just an hour ago her family departed _Taighcrann_ , the manor at Crane Hill, with a mountain of cake after the wedding breakfast. From what Ichabod said, Bandy had the manor cleaned from top to bottom to prepare for the handful of days they would be in residence, after which they would travel on to their marital house. 

Abbie had known one of her father's estates was part of her dowry, but never had she imagined he’d give Rose Manor, the property she favored above all other Mills holdings. She exhaled wistfully before putting the lid on the box with a firm pat. 

“Madam Crane, shall I put that away for you?”

Abbie roused from her thoughts and smiled at Danielle. “Please,” she murmured, and recalled how surprised she’d been upon seeing the servant’s familiar face amongst the sparse number of tidy staff.

More would come later, she was told.

_"Your husband," Danielle said. "Asked your father's permission to ask me if I would like to accompany you to Crane Hill and I couldn't resist, madam."_

Her husband was doing everything he could to endear himself to her and dammit all if it wasn't working. If he didn't stop, she would have no reservations about their wedding night. It was then Abbie froze.

Their wedding night.

It was… later tonight. Hours away, even. Plenty of time to shake the nerves from her person and prepare to do her duty.

Abbie put her hand to her chest and gasped for breath. What if she couldn't do this? What if she couldn't keep up the facade of their hasty courtship and even hastier engagement and wedding? What if he was a brute in the marriage bed? 

Abbie squeezed her eyes shut but could not keep out the persistent images that rose unbidden from the dark recesses of her mind.

_Quit fighting it Abbie, we're meant for each other and you know it_. 

Then, like a sorely needed beacon, Danielle's voice came from far away. 

“Madam Abbie, are you alright?"

Abbie mustered a smile for the woman and nodded. "I'm fine. Just a… few… wedding night jitters, I warrant."

Danielle squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Oh, that’s normal! And tonight is ages away. I know you’ll settle well before then.” She paused and cocked her head as she regarded Abbie.

"Do you… do you need counsel on what happens? I’ve been in your shoes, in another life,” she mutters. 

Abbie blinked; not once in the entirety she’d known Danielle had the subject of a husband come up. “You never mentioned that,” Abbie stammered.

Danielle looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Nothing much to tell. I became a housemaid after he went to war and all that came back was a letter my father had to read to me.”

Abbie felt her heart ache. Here Danielle stood, five years her junior, married _and_ widowed. “I’m so sorry, Danielle,” she said, and reached forward to squeeze her hand. 

Danielle squeezed back with a thin smile. “That’s war for you,” she said. “My story does not differ from a lot of girls I know.” She straightened visibly and shook off the blanket of melancholy that had fallen over them. “Now’s not the time to talk of such things, we have happier topics to discuss.”

“I don’t know about _happier_ ,” Abbie muttered. 

Danielle’s amiable smile turned shrewd. “What exactly are you concerned about?”

"The only advice my mother gave me was, close my eyes and imagine some place I feel safe," Abbie sighed. The problem was, she couldn't readily think of a place that was safe that didn't also remind her of Andrew. "But there are other things that prey on my mind besides _the deed_... What if I never love him?"

Danielle hesitated. "One day at a time, madam. Your husband seems to be an agreeable man. Anyone that would go through the trouble of getting me here with you mustn't be too terrible. He wanted you to have at least one familiar face around because he considered your comfort."

Abbie hadn't thought of that and as she turned it over in her mind the dread in her heart began to fade. He _did_ constantly give her the say on anything that involved her. Their wedding night surely wouldn't be any different, would it?

In all the dreams she had been having about her husband, he _always_ asked her permission before doing anything. Abbie fathomed that's because he did the same during their brief courtship. _May I hold your hand, Miss Mills? Do you mind if I sit closer, Miss Mills? No? Then I apologize for my boldness, Miss Mills._

Abbie's face warmed as one of the racier dreams filled her imagination. _Would you like my cock inside of you, Miss Mills_? She gasped and shook herself out of the impending fantasy. Perhaps what she truly needed was a voice of realism and reason. 

"Perhaps some… suggestions wouldn't be _too_ terrible either," Abbie said, glad her complexion hid had to be a furious flush as her neck and chest grew over warm. The maelstrom within quieted just a bit more at the touch of Danielle’s hand as it squeezed hers in solidarity. 

To Abbie, it said _you’re going to be just fine_. Well, Danielle would know, wouldn’t she.

  
~*~  


“I should leave now if I intend to return to town in good time,” Bandy said.

“Yes, you should,” Ichabod agreed, his face carefully neutral as his uncle nodded absently. 

"I'll be by in the morning to see how everyone is doing," Bandy said as he finally made his way toward the door. Just outside Eustice sat in the carriage prepared to depart, save one missing passenger. 

Just before he stepped through the door Bandy turned and eyed Ichabod sternly. "Do remember Miss Mi--your wife may be your bride, but she's still a lady. Treat her like one or I'll have your head and her father will do what he wants with the rest of you."

When the door closed behind his uncle, the last guest to leave, Ichabod felt trepidation like ice drop through his stomach. With everyone gone he was now left with his thoughts, he realized with a growing terror. Although he’d done this before, once again he had to figure out how to get from his present position to the expected culmination of his wedding night with as much grace and dignity that could be afforded both parties. 

Should he go upstairs so he and his wife could see to their marital responsibilities straight away? Somehow that felt uncouth. Wouldn’t it be more mannerable to wait until bedtime? 

Ichabod swore it hadn't been this complicated when he had married Betsy; nearly a month had passed before they had come together to consummate their marriage. Unfortunately that particular avenue was impossible for time was of the essence, to which he had to admit was his doing. He had prattled on so long that there was barely two months before he had to have his wife - his wife… _his wife_ \- with child.

He wandered into the parlor and sank onto a chair, feeling suddenly unwell. Ichabod sat forward with his elbows on his knees and sighed loudly. The wedding he’d just attended was his own, which meant he was married. 

_Again_. 

And so soon after the last disastrous attempt, not even a year. If that didn’t distress Ichabod enough he had limited time to produce an heir. With no conscious command his mind returned to that evening in the Mills study, stroking Abbie's arm with his thumb, and the heated daydream that had run through his head…

But that was a dream.

The likelihood of Abbie being that amenable of his ardor was slim. She probably hadn't even thought about their wedding night. Or if she had, she was dreading it. He sensed eyes on him and looked up to find Abbie dressed in a pale blue dress, arms free of her customary gloves and no bonnet on her head as she hugged a book to her front. 

Ichabod blinked and remembered he had the right to see her as such, she was his wife. Still, a small voice within him railed at the scandal of it all, and wondered what people would think. 

He should have taken Bandy up on that drink. 

Her smile was shyer than he’d ever seen it as she ducked her head. "Husband," she said softly. "I came to see if you would like to keep to our afternoon ritual of tea and reading."

Ichabod bolted to his feet. Abbie's eyes widened and she took a step back. He swallowed hard, but his voice still cracked when he replied, "Yes!" He cleared his throat. "Yes. I would love to… wife. More of my books arrived from America and have been displayed in the study."

"I suppose now would be a good time to finally return this one to you," Abbie said, holding out the book for him.

Ichabod felt his face warm as he received his copy of _Fanny Hill_. Heavens, he had been so bold in his wild days as an unmarried man - giving an unmarried woman such filth. Now he felt like a scoundrel. They stood in silence for a long moment, neither feeling up to looking the other in the eye at that time. Abbie ducked close and tucked her arm around his. She glanced up and then away.

"I found it quite… titillating," she admitted as he started escorting her toward the study. It had been many years since he had been to _Taighcrann_ but he could still clearly recall the way. "And very _scandalous_ for an unwed man to lend such a book to an unmarried woman. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"At least we were engaged," Ichabod offered, smiling down at her when she playfully tutted at his defense. It was strange how he was already so attuned to the differences in her tone, that let him know she was teasing.

Abbie glanced around as they walked, her eyes wide with wonder. "I remember when Katrina and I would sneak up and try to see inside this place," she admitted. "They said it was haunted, after your grandfather passed. Mary said it was nonsense as she had actually succeeded in sneaking in and--as she put it--had the most restful night of sleep in her life. Zoe said it was because even the ghost of Old Nebuchadnezzar wouldn't dare infringe upon Mary."

"I know my uncle frequently visited here after Neb passed," Ichabod said, leaning close enough to murmur near her ear. "So the hauntings may have just been him trying to keep inquisitive maidens from sneaking in."

When they arrived at the study, he immediately set to finding a place for the book on the shelves. Afterward, he stepped back and frowned at his surprisingly sparse collection. "We need more books," he commented. 

Abbie came up to his side. "I enthusiastically agree; I’m glad to know we’re of the same opinion," she said. "Whose turn is it to pick a book?"

  
~*~  


After an afternoon of idle book chatter and tea, followed by a simple supper, one would have expected they were comfortable enough with the idea of being husband and wife. However, upon arriving at their bedroom, it was painfully obvious they were not, in fact, comfortable with the idea of being husband and wife in one very important aspect.

Initially Abbie had dismissed Danielle early, after the bed had been turned down, for the sole purpose of asking Ichabod to help her prepare for bed. But, the way he was staring at her, she fathomed the request was either beyond his ability or the thought of undressing her was too much for him to comprehend. She honestly couldn't think of a phrase to describe the wide eyed shock on his face.

After a long moment, Abbie swallowed hard and shook her head. "N… Nevermind," she sputtered. "I've actually gotten… pretty good at undressing myself… if… you don't… want to." Her face was scalded with embarrassment. Had she been too bold? Oh, heavens, what if he thought her to secretly be a loose woman?

"I want to," he blurted. "I just… I…" He swallowed and dampened his lips. "I fear some time has passed since I have had cause to touch something with such care. When distressed my hands grow clumsy and I may inadvertently cause injury to you… or damage your lovely gown."

Abbie stared up at Ichabod curiously. _He was just as nervous as she_. Somehow that brought her a lot of comfort. She reached out and placed her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. "I trust you to be as delicate as needed. And if you do… _cause injury_ , it will be entirely accidental."

As he searched her face, the impression he knew she wasn't referring to just her gown strengthened. "I will be as delicate as I possibly can," Ichabod said softly.

Abbie turned and held her breath. Years passed in the seconds it took for him to move forward and begin to carefully untie the bow at her back. So far, so good, she mused. What was wholly unexpected was how arousing the mere act of unfastening the diminutive buttons between her shoulders could be. 

He slipped the sleeves down her arms. The gentle brush of his fingers on her skin caused goose pimples to form in their wake. It was then Abbie finally remembered to breathe and sucked in a harsh breath. She hadn't worn any petticoats when Danielle helped her change after the breakfast, therefore when she stepped out of her dress, she was left in just her stay, shift, and slippers.

A soft gasp slipped between her lips as she felt Ichabod carefully loosen her stay. When it fell to the floor, Abbie slipped off her shoes and leaned down to pick up her discarded clothing. "Thank you," she muttered, then hurried to the far side of the bed to lay everything over the arm of a chair.

When she turned back towards the bed, she saw Ichabod staring at her in slack-jawed awe. Abbie looked away and slid beneath the blankets, grateful to hide from his gaze. 

Ichabod still stared and hadn't budged from where she left him. Her heart beat madly within her chest, much like she had been startled and had yet to properly calm down. Her eyes drifted to the other side of the bed when she saw movement from the corner of her eye. “Are you going to join me?” she asked quietly.

“I wish to, but I’m nervous,” Ichabod said. 

Abbie sat up in surprise. “Still?”

“Even more so,” he admitted.

Abbie felt oddly calm, as if her own apprehension allowed her to step out of her body, unencumbered by the fear that had wanted to manifest earlier. If she could concentrate on Ichabod’s predicament then she could handily ignore her own. And it seemed to be keeping those other, less pleasant, thoughts at bay.

“Do you want me to close my eyes?” she offered.

Ichabod shook his head, face aflame with shame. “This was not what I wanted,” he muttered. 

“Me or this marriage?” 

Ichabod shook his head immediately. “Neither of those things,” he said. 

Abbie felt a lump in her throat at his admission. She hadn't expected the truth to hurt. "It's not too late, the union hasn't been consummated, if there is another maid at court that would better--"

"No." Ichabod shook his head. "You… _you_ are perfect. Perhaps a little too perfect. I wouldn't change anything about you. You're everything I've dreamt of in a wife. You're beautiful. Charming. Intelligent… and I..."

He waved his hand to indicate his entire self and sighed with frustration. "I expected more of myself in this moment.”

Abbie mulled it over in her head for a moment. She too had hoped to be more like the heroines she read about in books. Facing their fates with their heads head high and doing the best they could with the circumstances life had dealt to them. She had wanted to refuse to be the simpering maiden that had to rely on a husband to make her a worthy member of society.

_You are perfect_. Surely he was just being polite, Abbie reasoned. No one had ever said she was _perfect_.

“Most of the heroes in books are not that incredible, to be honest,” she offered. “They rely too heavily on brute force and swords to be successful. To me, the greatest heroes rely on their wit and charm…”

“And I have none,” he said simply.

Abbie drew back. “Absolutely not true,” she said. “We have been able to speak at length about politics and science, not to mention how many books we’ve read in common.” 

She considered a moment before continuing. “I think we are putting too much pressure on ourselves,” she said when he met her gaze. “I am well aware of our time constraints and I don’t mean we should ignore them forever. Just… for tonight,” she said. "Perhaps we can just lay next to each other and talk?"

Ichabod mulled it over. “That’s reasonable,” he admitted. “If it happens, it happens.”

Abbie nodded quickly in agreement. “No need to make it such an unpleasant experience.”

She smiled when he let out a breath of relief. Abbie settled back against her pillow and stared at the ceiling when Ichabod turned down the oil lamp on the bedside table. Her eyes widened when she heard the gentle swish of fabric. Her stomach was suddenly full of butterflies when she realized he was getting undressed.

Her eyes travelled in his direction, most unwillingly she would claim, as he lay his coat over the back of a chair. Abbie wet her lips as she watched him shrug off his waistcoat. Her face was slowly warming, praying he wouldn’t turn to catch her watching him. Why did she feel so short of breath all of a sudden? A small whimper escaped her lips as he pulled his shirt off over his head, exposing his back in all its sinful glory.

Well, it wasn’t really sinful anymore, was it? He was her husband and she _should_ look, and god willing, be appreciative. “You have a very nice back,” Abbie blurted out, and immediately was mortified. 

Ichabod froze, then laughed and to her neverending humiliation laughed harder when she groaned and rolled over to pull the curtains to the bed closed. 

He reached out to stop her, her hand in his. “Abigail… Abbie,” Ichabod amended. 

“No, let me die, let me expire in shame until I shuffle off this mortal coil.” Abbie refused to look at him as she continued to tug on the curtain. She noticed the ties for the bed curtains were knotted, which would explain their resistance to coming undone, and let her hand drop back to the blanket. Wholly unrelated to the curtains, was the dampness that seemed to be forming between her thighs. 

There had been precious few times she had felt a similar dampness… some of those times had been instigated while she and Katrina had _explored_ each other in the cover of darkness. When she had mentioned such feelings to her mother, she had been told to just ignore them and it would go away as the sensations were unladylike.

Eventually Abbie's curiosity reared its unfortunate head and she glanced aside at her husband, turning to take in the surprising definition of his torso and the way it tapered to a waist almost as narrow as her own, with ridges of muscle and sinew that disappeared into his trousers. “Oh good heavens…”

Abbie put her back to him, her eyes wide. 

She ildy stroked the silk casing of her pillow and tried to ignore the sound of Ichabod finishing undressing. She was more than mortified. What did he think of her ogling his half-naked body? What would he think of the dampness between her legs?

After a moment she felt a gentle chill as he lifted the blankets to slide under them himself. She shifted onto her stomach and turned her head just enough to catch him in her peripheral. He was covered from just above his waist and downward, staring at the ceiling, drumming his fingers on his belly. When he turned his head toward her, Abbie yelped and looked away quickly.

“Did you just… yelp?”

Abbie could sense his amusement and it just furthered her now constant mortification. “Absolutely not,” she said, turning towards him. “I… merely shifted into an uncomfortable position. I’ll have you know it’s unladylike for a lady to… lust after a gentleman, even if he is her husband.” 

“I didn’t ask if you were lusting after me, I asked if you yelped.” 

She was sorely tempted to slap him for the way his eyes glimmered with amusement. However, he had a point. He had never once mentioned lustful behavior. She had been the one to mention lusting after a gentleman and she had also been the one to mention his bare back. Honestly, she needed to stop telling on herself like this.

One corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk. “Are you lusting after me, Miss Mills… I mean, Mrs. Crane?”

“ _No_ ,” Abbie gawked.

“It’s alright if you are,” Ichabod said gently. “I don’t mind it in the least if it’s coming from my wife. I promise not to tell a soul if you are.”

Abbie pursed her lips, staring him in the eyes. “Maybe a little,” she admitted, looking away. “But not much… just enough that it’s not _completely_ unladylike.” She looked at him again, frowned, and covered his face with her hand. “Stop that. I’ve told you time and again…”

“And you haven’t yet told me, what offense my _stupid face_ is committing so that I may stop,” Ichabod reminded, gently capturing her offending hand and holding the back of it to his chest.

Abbie blinked at her hand, her fingers flexed, inching to touch the warmth radiating from his skin. She moistened her lips and swallowed. This truly wasn't fair.

His expression softened. “May I touch you, Mrs. Crane?”

For a moment, Abbie gaped. “I… I imagine so, I am your wife,” she stammered.

“That’s… that’s not what I meant,” Ichabod said. “I meant… may I touch you… _intimately_.”

Abbie blinked slowly. Her heart skipped a beat. “Are you genuinely asking?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“And if I were to say no, you’d honor my decision?”

“Without hesitation,” Ichabod confirmed.

Abbie felt this was too good to be true. “Why?” she asked, bluntly.

“Because you’re my beautiful wife,” Ichabod said quietly. “Because I think you're just as nervous as I am? Because I would very much like to give you pleasure on your wedding night? But _only_ if you are willing.” He shook his head and released her hand. "Nevermind… I shouldn't have -"

“You think I’m beautiful,” Abbie commented, unable to keep a smile from overtaking her face.

“I felt it inappropriate to tell you before we were married,” he replied, rearranging his pillows. “But, yes. I think you are indeed very beautiful. Far too beautiful for someone with such a stupid face as mine.”

Abbie covered her face with her hands and groaned. “I say you have a stupid face, but what I mean is that it is stupidly handsome,” she admitted. “So handsome it makes me fairly angry.”

Ichabod felt something in his chest loosen, and he threw his head back and laughed as Abbie gaped. 

“Again you laugh at me?” she asked as she struggled to maintain her irritation even as her mouth twitched with the desire to smile, charmed once again by the man before her.

Ichabod immediately attempted to temper his reaction. “I think that might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my face,” he said.

“No one has ever called you handsome?” Abbie asked incredulously. 

Ichabod hesitated. “I have been called such,” he admitted. “But that sentiment tended to wear away beneath what are considered my irritating habits and tendencies.”

“Such as?”

“Well…” Ichabod stared up at the ceiling of the canopy draped over their bed. “I can be… forthright in my arguments. I do not take kindly to the spread of misinformation and I am ardent in my quest for knowledge. I know that has reduced my charm to many people.”

“Well, from what I have experienced so far, I consider it _one of_ your charms,” Abbie admitted. “Not to mention you are willing to at least listen to _me_... I don’t know if you know this or not but… most men tend to brush aside anything a woman says as incorrect. And if she agrees with them, they are convinced it’s because she wants to appear clever and nothing more.”

“Because god forbid a woman have her own independent thoughts and beliefs,” Ichabod scoffed. “Honestly, I don’t know how women put up with it. Even my mother didn’t have an answer when I asked her why no one listened to her opinions _just_ because she is a woman.”

“Did you try asking your father?”

“I asked him first,” Ichabod replied. “He didn’t know and told me I should perhaps ask my mother as she had lived experience of being a woman with very strong opinions that were oft ignored.” 

“That’s unusual, men usually know everything,” Abbie stated, shifting onto her side to face him.

“I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing, and that is that I know nothing,” Ichabod said and looked towards her.

“Socrates,” Abbie hummed with interest.

“Words my father lived by,” he said. “Words _I_ try to live by.”

They lay there in silence for a moment. Finally, Abbie took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes,” she said. 

“Pardon?” Ichabod asked, confusion on his face.

“You can…” Abbie lowered her voice. “Touch me intimately.” In an effort to show her willingness, Abbie shifted to laying on her back and closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure what to expect. Perhaps something similar to what she and Katrina shared… What she hadn’t expected was gentle fingers brushing her jaw. Her mouth suddenly felt dry.

“Why did you close your eyes,” Ichabod asked, the back of his fingers skimming her cheek then below her lips.

Abbie opened her eyes and glanced his way. “Am I not supposed to?” She hadn’t expected the softness in his eyes as he gazed at her mouth. His eyes connected with hers as he gently explored her face with his fingers. She wasn’t sure how this constituted as intimate but it nonetheless felt so.

“I imagine there are no rules against it,” he murmured. “If it makes you more comfortable… Would you come closer? Or may I come closer?” 

Abbie nodded mutely and shifted closer to him. He too shifted closer until he was able to pull her into his arms. Abbie’s eyes widened as she felt the length of his warm body press to her back. She was eternally grateful for her thin shift, for surely she would have gone mad feeling that much of his skin on hers so soon. Despite feeling like he had entirely invaded her personal space, Abbie found herself snuggling back against his warmth. 

Having someone that was meant to keep her warm at night was certainly something she could grow accustomed to. Ichabod’s fingers trailed down the side of her neck and shoulder, making Abbie shiver. He paused.

“Are you alright?”

Abbie nodded. “A cold chill is all,” she said quietly. She was still wondering what was so intimate about him lightly touching her face and now her arm. Her body somehow had the missive while her head did not because she was fighting every reaction her body was trying to have. No matter how many times she told herself touching her fingers was _not_ intimate, her body thought otherwise.

Ichabod entwined his fingers with hers. Abbie’s eyes fluttered closed for an entirely new reason when his lips brushed a spot just below her ear then traced the same path his fingers had taken down her neck and shoulder. She felt a throb of betrayal between her thighs and a soft sigh slipped from her mouth.

“Alright?”

“Yes,” Abbie whispered. Sure, Danielle said she would _feel_ things if she was enjoying the things her husband was doing. But Abbie had thought she meant in the emotional sense or even in the proverbial sense. She never fathomed she would feel ready to melt like snow at the first signs of spring.

A soft moan came from her lips as Ichabod’s teeth gently scraped her neck. Ordinarily a lady of Abbie’s status would cover her mouth or find some means of suppressing such a wanton sound. However, Ichabod was still holding fast to her one hand and her other was fisting and twisting the blankets. When exactly had that happened? She didn’t know. What she did know was that tiny little sound seemed to light a fire in her husband's ardor.

His arms tightened around her and he released her hand to slowly cup her thigh and slide his fingers upwards. His lips and teeth teased her jaw, drawing more elicit sounds unwillingly from her mouth. Abbie wasn’t sure exactly how wound up her husband was, but she had a feeling she was soon to find out.

Abbie gasped as his fingers delved between her thighs. She grabbed his wrist and pushed it away with a sharp, “No!”

Almost instantly, her husband complied, resting his hand on her hip. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice so heavy with desire Abbie couldn’t help but shiver. She shook her head. “Do you wish to tell me what I did wrong?”

How did she tell him that she didn’t want him to feel the warm dampness there? Surely he would find it revolting? It was one thing for it to happen between two women, surely, but another for it to happen with a man? _Be honest with each other_ , Danielle’s voice said in her head. “I… I’m experiencing some… womanly… reactions and I didn’t wish to… disgust you.”

Ichabod was silent for a moment. “You mean to say you’re having your moontides?”

“No!” Abbie shook her head. “I don’t know how exactly to explain it but… when… pleasurable things happen… I… or, well, I suppose any woman… I guess… that particular… _area_... becomes… What I mean is…”

“Heated? Damp,” Ichabod asked. Abbie nodded, her face aflame. Both of those things actually, now that she thought about it. “I wouldn’t be disgusted in the least.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh, well, then feel free to resume,” Abbie said primly. 

Ichabod nuzzled her jaw, chuckling softly. “Only if it’s what you wish.”

“I said feel free to--”

“I want to hear you say this is what you want,” Ichabod murmured. “I will not do another thing until I hear the words.”

It would be so easy to stop this now. She could scoot away from him and they could, perhaps, try again tomorrow night. Somehow, Abbie knew if that was what she wanted, it would be done. That alone made her acquiescent. “Could you… snuff the lamp?”

“Certainly.”

When he pulled away to do so, Abbie greedily sucked down air as she remained curled on her side. Not long after the bedroom lamp was snuffed she felt Ichabod return to her. Her eyes widened as she realized there was something thick and long pressed against her backside. Not to mention it was incredibly hard.

Surely she was mistaken… that couldn’t possibly be… Bram’s hadn’t felt that _large_ when he had forced her onto his lap. On the other hand, they were in bed, there was no logical reason for her husband to have a pistol, a sheathed sword, or a _hunting rifle_ in the bed.

“Ichabod,” Abbie squeaked then cleared her throat. “Ichabod… I wish for you to resume.” 

In the dark, Ichabod didn’t have to hide his wolfish grin. “As my lady wishes.” _Go slow, go slow_ , he reminded himself. 

After all, they had all night.


	7. A Consummation of Events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie and Ichabod play a very intense game of chess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We double and triple checked so hopefully we didn't miss anything that needed warned against. Although there is a very brief mention of non-consensual activities having taken place in the past. And a mention of a case of physical altercation between a parent and child as adults.

She thought he would pick up right where he had stopped. But no, he went back to the beginning, gently touching her face. In the cover of darkness, Abbie let herself sigh and softly moan. Instead of going between her legs, his hand slid underneath her shift and up her body, until he was cupping one of her breasts. He rolled the tip between his fingers until it became a hard peak and Abbie was squeezing her thighs together to give herself some relief from the ache pooling there.

“Oh, God,” Abbie groaned. She rolled onto her belly, not to escape his hand, but to give herself some relief and to bite down on her pillow. There was not a thing she could think of that he could do with neither his hands nor mouth that she could think of when she was in this position.

However, it was her dreaded fate that she was proven very wrong with in a few seconds of believing herself to be safely protected from any further pleasure. Her husband’s stupidly large hand once again cupped her thigh, sliding slowly upward. Abbie squeezed her pillow, trying to keep herself from pushing him away because she was so enraptured with curiosity about what he could possibly do.

Ichabod’s hand parted her thighs and Abbie was ashamed to admit just how easily her treacherous thighs complied in addition to her hips, arching towards his touch. There was, she supposed, gentle relief in knowing he was unaffected by the fact she resembled a baby sleeping with its backside jutted into the air. Or rather, he wasn’t laughing about it at least. For all she knew, he thought it was hilarious and was simply being modest and accommodating to her inexperience.

“Do you wish for me to stop?”

Abbie’s eyes popped open and she practically shrieked, “No!”

Wait. Wasn’t she supposed to say the opposite?

Abbie found she was unable to decide as his fingers began to gently stroke her heated flesh and all she could really do was moan and sigh. For the longest time she thought only other women knew of these secrets. But nay, now she knew she had been misled. For her husband seemed to know exactly how to touch her and make her body tremble.

She cried out softly as his fingers pushed inside of her, her core clenched and she could feel Ichabod placing gentle kisses on her shoulder as the sleeve of her shift slipped down her arm. Abbie bit her bottom lip as she felt the subtle push and pull of his fingers inside of her. 

Her fingers curled and uncurled against her pillow. Abbie turned her face against the pillow to muffle a scream, her hips moving of their own volition against her husband's hand. She could feel dampness trickling down her thighs as his movements slowed.

"Are you alright," Ichabod asked as he removed his fingers from inside of her.

Abbie could only nod and pant softly. It felt like her nethers were having a celebration and the rest of her was being happily dragged along. She gave Ichabod a faint smile, her eyes kept wanting to roll back. 

"That was even better than when Katrina did it," Abbie admitted lazily. Her face warmed when Ichabod cocked a brow and smirked. "Not that you need your head puffed up any more as it is."

“That’s not what had me surprised,” Ichabod stated. “I was not aware ladies did that sort of thing to each other.”

“You would be quite surprised what ladies do in the throes of curiosity,” Abbie commented.

“Perhaps you can educate me some day,” Ichabod said. “Or not… I might become jealous.”

Abbie fluttered her lashes. “It was mostly Katrina, but there were occasions in which both Mary and Zoe partook as well. We were all quite frustrated that no one would give us answers when we had questions and took matters into our own hands.”

“Rather literally,” Ichabod murmured. “Just know that, should you have any further curiosities, I would be most eager to give you someone in which to take your matters.” A slow smile spread over Abbie’s lips. She liked the sound of that idea, especially at this moment, as she floated on her own little cloud of pleasure. “Would you like to continue? If you enjoyed what we’ve done so far, I assure you, what remains could feel even better.”

She could scarcely imagine pleasure culminating even better than what she already felt. Though the thought both intrigued and frightened her just a little, the words she had read in _Fanny Hill_ came back to her as did the sensations she felt while imagining the scenes. She wouldn't lie if he asked, but more than once she had imagined herself and him in place of the characters. “Mmhmm,” she responded, her tone a little more afraid than she had intended. 

“Are you certain?” Ichabod asked, staring deeply into her soul.

Abbie cleared her throat. “Yes.”

“Do you know what you want me to do?”

She blinked. “Promise you won’t think me loose?”

Ichabod chuckled. “You’re my wife. It isn’t loose when it is with me.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Abbie conceded. “I think I’m stalling, so let’s get to the main event.”

Ichabod paused and laughed. “I don’t think I’ve heard it described as such,” he said.

She huffed and pushed her hair off her neck. “Then how would you describe it?”

“A joining of husband and wife? An action that will, I hope, seal our union?” he said. "My apologies, for being well-read, words fail me at times." He looked at her in the eyes. "Make love, perhaps?

Abbie didn’t miss the hope in his voice, and she reached in the dark until she found his hand. “I'd like that,” she admitted. After a moment she tugged him closer, and almost naturally he settled between her open legs. Abbie could feel his breath, gentle against her cheek and it made her shiver, her thighs falling open until something hard and hot rested against her core. “Oh, that _is_ you,” she said, suddenly breathless. 

“Yes,” Ichabod said, and thrust shallowly against her. He could feel the moisture gather against his member and it felt so good he moved against her again and again until her small hands were clenched tightly around his biceps. 

"Well that's a relief," Abbie sighed. "I thought perhaps you brought a rifle to bed."

Ichabod blinked down at her, his lips trying to form the obvious question, then he grinned and rested his forehead against hers. He cradled her face in his hands and nuzzled her nose with his. A smile spread across Abbie's lips and she chuckled softly. His touch was so reverent that she couldn't help but think it was so much different than when--a memory flashed unbidden in her mind.

That was when she tensed. Ichabod paused, staring down at her. "Are you alright? Do you need me to stop?"

Abbie shook her head. She swallowed hard as she felt her heart suddenly soar. She could do this. She felt like she could trust Ichabod. "I'm… fine. I don't want you to stop."

He searched her face, then nodded gently. Abbie's eyes rolled back as one of his hands glided down to her breast to cup it gently. A loud moan spilled from her lips as he thumbed her nipple.

“Does it feel good, Treasure?” he groaned as he swiveled his hips. 

“Yes,” Abbie panted. “Are… are you going to... put it in?” 

Ichabod kissed her cheek and down her neck, any skin he could reach. “Wild horses couldn’t stop me unless you wished it so.”

“Speaking of horses… I should tell you, I lost my maidenhead in a horse riding incident,” Abbie said quietly, her hand on his chest. Her fingers curled into his chest hair and she felt a yearnful ache at her core. Although she knew this could end everything, she wanted him to be aware that there were certain things that would be denied him this night. “I understand if you’re disappointed. I’ve been told men appreciate piercing it as a sign of chastity.”

Ichabod paused. “Is that important to _you_?”

Abbie huffed a laugh. Important. It seemed like a gross oversimplification. It had been, once upon a time. _Before_. “Not in the slightest. I just… I just want to make sure I’m doing this right.”

Ichabod sat up and shook his head. “I just wish I could see you,” he said. “I want you to see my face when I say this.”

Abbie felt dread tighten in her chest. “What? What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything, Treasure,” he reassured her as he stroked the knee closest to him. “I just want you to understand that I am not interested in trophies, Abbie. Being able to pierce the maidenhead is seen by some men as a sign of chastity, yes, but more feel it is a type of trophy to be collected and bragged about to their friends. A way to feel as if they’ve staked their claim.”

“...Agreed,” Abbie said disgustedly as she thought back on all the handsy so-called gentlemen who tried to press their luck.

Ichabod felt a little sheepish. “Unfortunately I used to think that way before my father gave me a solid thrashing that drummed some sense into me.”

“Really?”

Ichabod was suddenly happy to be in the dark. “My only excuse was I was a particularly stupid twenty year old, having just returned from an extended visit to my grandfather whilst I had been attending Oxford. He had horrible ideas towards women and had nearly undid everything my parents tried to instill in me. My father made certain to remind me of who I really was. I still have a scar on my left shoulder where he accidentally hit me with the buckle of his belt instead of the strap." He chuckled at Abbie’s giggles. “Is there anything else you want me to know?”

Abbie considered. “I really like it when you kiss my neck,” she said quietly, tilting her head just enough to present the spot for his consideration. He made a low, appreciative sound.

“Noted,” Ichabod murmured, lightly kissing her neck. Abbie shuddered and sighed longingly. “I have plans to kiss every inch of your body. To make your body sing…"

“Oh,” Abbie said. “Please, don’t let me stop you.”

“Before we begin, can I please turn the lamp up just a little? I just want enough light to make sure I don’t hurt you accidentally.”

“There is logic in your request,” she admitted. “I, too, don’t want to accidentally poke… something I shouldn’t.”

“I have an idea,” Ichabod said. “Close your eyes.” 

Abbie did so without comment, and felt Ichabod move off the bed, the jostle of the bed curtains, and a scrape of what she could only imagine was a lamp.

“There.”

Abbie did, and immediately smiled. The canopy curtains had two parts, and the outer winter lining had been drawn and tied back to the posts. This allowed the glow of the oil lamp to filter through the gauzy inner material of the bed curtains, illuminating the bed just enough to see shapes and movement. Enough to keep Abbie from diving beneath the covers. 

Abbie immediately felt her gaze drawn up and down Ichabod’s fully naked form. “You’re naked,” she said dazedly, then laughed at her own absurdity. “I do know some about carnal relations, I promise.”

“Just not a lot,” Ichabod said. “I understand. Would you like to be naked?”

Abbie looked down and realized the hem of her shift was pooled practically around her waist. When she looked up at Ichabod he was staring at her nether region between her open thighs. _Lord, give me strength_ , she thought just before she sat up and tugged the shift up and off. Abbie threw it off to the side and immediately shut her eyes and fell backward in embarrassment. “I guess so,” she said.

“Very… very good choice,” Ichabod stammered as he resisted the urge to yank open the curtain to allow the full light in. Instead, he slipped between her thighs once again, resting on his knees. From what he could see Abbie had the type of body authors waxed poetic about. What sculptors cried themselves to sleep about.

What men lusted after. 

“Can I touch you?” he asked as his fingers flexed with nervous energy. 

Abbie still had her eyes shut. “Do something,” she yelped with a laugh. "Please!"

“Part of me just wanted to look at you for a moment,” Ichabod admitted. “You have a very pleasing shape.”

Abbie smiled, her eyes still closed. “Katrina said the same thing,” she murmured. “When I - _ooh_.” 

She arched into his touch as his fingers gently grazed her collarbone before he cupped her breasts gently. Immediately her legs snapped closed - or at least they tried, instead they trapped Ichabod and inadvertently pulled him closer. 

"My eyes have never looked upon such flawless perfection," Ichabod commented. His eyes widened in wonder as Abbie arched into his touch, her lips parting to release a soft sigh. He couldn't resist any longer… he _had_ to know the taste of her lips.

She tipped her head back and when her lips parted he was there. Ichabod understood now why poetry depicted kissing as drinking from someone. Abbie had to have the sweetest mouth, and when her tongue brushed against his it merely inflamed the stirring in his loins. He dropped his hips against her and ground down with a swivel of his hips. 

Abbie groaned into his mouth. Her fingers entwined behind his neck as her body responded in kind to his movements, arching and grinding against him. She shuddered and jutted her chest against his, his chest hair tickling her nipples. How was it she felt so heated without him having yet been inside of her?

Would she seem too desperate if she asked him to finally put an end to the tortuous aching between her legs by using the sizable member he insisted on holding against her core? She was thankfully spared having to ask, because Ichabod pulled back to search her face. Abbie wordlessly nodded.

Ichabod reached between their bodies. Abbie held her breath as he aligned himself with her and penetrated her with delicacy. He wanted to take it slow, understanding she had never known a man. He watched her face, gauged her reactions as he thrust gently and slowly. Ichabod witnessed her eyes widening with surprise then darkening lustfully. Her fingers glided up and down his arms and over his shoulders.

"Ichabod," she whispered softly.

He rested his forehead against hers then softly kissed her lips. Abbie whimpered, her mouth opening under his as her walls opened to take his cock. Ichabod was surprised at how easily she took him inside. It was amazing how arousal could ease the path to womanhood.

"Are you alright, love?" Ichabod asked.

Abbie nodded. "It feels… delightful," she croaked. "Much better than… I had heard…" She gasped and arched against him as he sheathed himself inside of her to the hilt. Her hands slid down his back and her head thrashed as her thighs quivered. 

Ichabod nipped her jaw and then caught her earlobe between his teeth to gently suck on it. "How much pleasure are you willing to take, my love?"

"As much as you're willing to give, husband," Abbie moaned. She already felt good, from what she understood the joining of husband and wife was the impedimy of pleasure. He insisted there was more than what they had shared. Just how much more was there? Was she cursed to live in an endless cycle of having her councils proven wrong by receiving more and more pleasure at her husband's hands? 

Seemed such a _dreadful_ fate, but one she was very willing to suffer. She would do so happily as long as it meant no other woman had to suffer as she did.

Her face warmed as her husband set a slow and easy pace, as though he were carefully cultivating a fire in the pit of her belly. “Husband…” she pouted, straining against him, wishing there were more. If she didn’t know any better, she would swear she could feel every ridge and vein rubbing against her insides. Surely she was just imagining his girth and size… perhaps her mind had confused fact with the fiction of her dreams.

“More?” Ichabod asked.

“There’s _more_ ,” Abbie asked, fidgeting restlessly against the blissful pressure at her core. “ _Yes_! I said as much as you’re willing to give, husband, and I meant it!”

One of her former paramours had once said her body was made for pleasure. Is this what he had meant? That every in and out slide of her husband's cock would make her crave more? Ichabod had started to move faster, she could feel his warm breath on her breasts that was soon followed by his mouth closing over the tip. He sucked hard at her breast as he braced himself over her, drawing one of her knees toward her chest.

Abbie's eyes widened as she gasped, " _Ichabod_."

“Forgive me,” he groaned, his hips hammered faster and faster. Abbie bit her bottom lip to hide a grin, shaking her head. Ichabod chuckled darkly. "No? Hmm… what should I do about that?"

He let her leg drop back to his side and when he braced himself over her once again, he pinned her wrists down on either side of her head. He thrust deep and hard into her body. Abbie's back arched as she groaned. "Is that more to your liking, madam?" He withdrew slowly then thrust again, this time he felt damp heat spill onto his thighs. "You like that?"

Abbie shivered, her body taut and growing more so each time he pounded into her. She babbled intelligibly, but nodded nonetheless. Ichabod's hands were shaking as he held her down, taking out months--if not years--of frustration at her core. At this rate, he wasn't sure how much longer he would last. 

Suddenly, his wife became a wild thing, her body thrashing as she screamed his name. Once again he felt dampness on his thighs, her walls pulsing around his cock. He slowed his movements to watch her as she had her release. Her body twisted and pushed against him as he pressed deep inside of her. She sobbed his name over and over, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Ichabod, please," she pleaded. "Again…"

Ichabod sat on his knees, grabbed her waist, and pulled her onto his lap. Abbie's eyes widened with wonder as she wrapped her arm around his neck. "Again?"

" _Please_ ," she begged. "So good…"

“Yes,” he agreed. “So good. God, you feel so good,” Ichabod said as he began to lift her off his lap faster and faster. His rhythm stuttered when Abbie scratched her nails against his scalp and began to bounce on her own. 

She whined; she wasn’t getting the friction she wanted. Abbie pushed Ichabod back and when he thrust up into her she exalted; _this_ was what she wanted. She swirled her hips and began to use her thighs and gravity to allow her to fall heavily onto what felt like velvet wrapped marble inside of her. “Yes,” she cried out. “Give it to me,” she groaned. 

Ichabod splayed his legs wide and held Abbie by the hips against his groin as he rutted against her, pushing himself as far inside her willing body as he could as his climax drew his body tight like a bow. He erupted with a roar, and turned them both so he was back on top, crying out ecstatically against Abbie’s breast as he spent himself deeply within her. 

The sensation of his completion coupled with Ichabod’s fevered thrustings pushed Abbie over the edge again and she could do hardly more than cling to him as her walls fluttered around his cock, milking it for everything he could give.

He collapsed fully against her, both dazed and breathing deeply, their skin slick with exertion. Abbie wrapped her arms around his head, raking her fingers through his hair as they panted.

"Oh my," Abbie murmured. " _That_ was a sexual debut."

Ichabod smiled against her breast. "Well, I am privileged to say I was there." He lifted his head to gaze as her euphoric face, glowing like an angel in the soft lamplight. "Are you alright?"

Abbie chuckled softly, sighing as she nodded lazily. She had so many questions. Was her experience of the martial duties meant to feel so good? Why on Earth would his former wife divorce him when he was capable of giving so much pleasure? Surely riches would be that much of a comfort to the woman?

A haze threatened Abbie's mind and she could feel her eyelids growing heavy. Try as she might to fight it, her hand fell away from his hair as she drifted to sleep. 

Careful as he could, Ichabod slipped to his wife's side and gathered her into his arms. His heart soared when she turned toward him and nuzzled her nose against his chest before becoming still again.

_Now this_ , Ichabod mused to himself. _This was what marriage was meant to be like_. The martial duties at any rate. Not being forced into it to save their mutual estates part. Oh how he wished he could have had all the time in the world to woo Abbie for her hand…

Although, perhaps it wasn't too late after all. He still had the distinct pleasure of having to win over her heart. It was only fair considering she had already ripped his from his chest and hidden it so he would never have hope of getting it back.

  
~*~  


Abbie had awakened, rather abruptly and dashed across the room to the chamber pot. No easy feat when her husband kept trying to sleepily pull her back into the bed. Thankfully he ended up falling face first into her pillow and curled himself around that instead as she fled. When Abbie finished her business, she rinsed her hands and face at the wash basin and returned to the bed.

Judging by the sky peeping through the window, it was just before sunrise. So she could still manage to get a few more hours of sleep. But when she returned to the bedside, she stopped to stare at her husband. If she had thought his face looked stupid whilst awake, it certainly looked ridiculous in his sleep. A grown man had absolutely no business looking so innocent in his sleep!

He had rolled onto his back and sprawled out. His hair was tousled and brushed his cheek, which sported the rough beginnings of a beard. She rested her hand against her belly as she felt a heaviness begin to grow there. The kind of heaviness that accompanied her wanting to make love to him again.

_Again? Already? Had they not partook in rigorous lovemaking merely hours ago?_

Oh she really was a woman of pleasure now, wasn’t she? Craving carnal pleasures in the early hours of the morning when proper ladies were still asleep! 

A sudden wave of guilt washed over her. Was it right for her to garner so much pleasure from a deed that had not too long ago been a source of embarrassment and shame? What sort of woman was she to try and refuse Andrew all those months ago but to joyfully throw herself into her husband's embrace. Not only that but to _crave_ her husband's ardor.

Perhaps, that was the difference. Ichabod was her husband. She was meant to cleave herself to him as the Good Book ordained. She wanted the affections of her husband. Andrew wasn't her husband. And she hadn't _wanted_ what he had been offering. And yet he had plucked away her chastity, to - what had Ichabod called it - claim it as a trophy. 

Taking a deep breath, Abbie bid herself from her thoughts and pulled back the blankets with the intention of easing back into her husband’s arms and going back to sleep. Or at least try. She doubted she would be able to get much sleep in her state.

As the path to hell was oft forged on good intentions, that was not what happened. She had pulled them back a little too eagerly and exposed her husband’s body all the way to his hips for her greedy eyes to feast upon. One knee had been upon the mattress when she realized her mistake. It was the path of curls below his navel that disappeared under the blanket that held her attention.

Honestly, it was a mere half an inch at most and he would be fully exposed to her gaze!

She finished climbing into the bed, chewing her bottom lip as she slipped her feet into the warmth of the blankets. And - whoops - apparently such a gesture was more than sufficient to tug the blankets down and get an eyeful of what her husband possessed under all the layers of gentlemanly attire.

“ _It must have belong’d to a young giant_ , indeed,” Abbie muttered, her face aflame as she tugged the blankets back up into place. Her hands were suddenly trembling. Sleep was definitely not going to come easily as she yearned for her husband.

She looked at Ichabod’s face, hooing she hadn't disturbed his slumber. A small squeak came from her mouth as she discovered him staring at her. “I wasn’t gawking…” she defended.

“You clearly were,” he murmured sleepily. Abbie's core clenched when he made a small contented sound and groped for her from across the bed. He pouted when it was obvious she was out of reach. Abbie wanted to scold him for being so… so… infuriating.

Ichabod rubbed his face against the pillows then turned his head to peer at her. "And you read Fanny Hill after all… I thought it would be entirely too scandalous for you to continue past the first few pages.”

Abbie scoffed, tugging ceasely at the blankets to cover herself as she was still very naked. “I had gotten myself into the situation so what sort of lady of honor would I be if I hadn't?” Then it occurred to her… her husband had rather openly been staring at her naked body! _Just as she had been ogling his_.

It happened she had been wanting to breach the subject of producing him an heir. Perhaps, having gazed upon her naked form, his ardor had been aroused and he would see logic to the suggestion she was about to make… “Husband, I was thinking,” she said primly. “Would it not make sense, as we are trying to make our union a fruitful one, that we _entangle_ nightly? Or Perhaps it would even be prudent to do so this very morning and every morning until our success? Or perhaps, if we are up to task, to do so both every morning and evening…"

Ichabod propped himself up on one elbow and slowly blinked at her. Abbie shrieked with frustration and covered his face with her hands, making him laugh as he wrestled her hands away. "How dare you try to deflect my only defence," Ichabod teased. “Am I misunderstanding or are you suggesting we _consort_ every morning and every evening until a child is conceived?”

“Purely for the purpose of producing the child you need to inherit the estate,” Abbie stated, elegantly pulling her hands free. “It’s merely a suggestion as, I now have no objections to the act itself and… you certainly seemed up to the task as well…” Abbie settled back against her pillows and pulled the blankets up to her chin. “While I understand you may have mistresses that would be sorely missing your affections at this time, it’s just a suggestion… You don’t have to--eek!”

Abbie found herself staring down at her husband without even knowing how she got there. One moment she had been minding her own business, laying next to him, and now she was sprawled atop of him. Her husband's hands spanned her waist, his thumbs stroking her hips.

“First of all, wife, you will be the only woman in the same bed as I in this manner. Second, your suggestion is rather clever,” Ichabod said. “One of which I agree wholeheartedly. If you are willing, of course. Might I even suggest a tousel at midday?"

"Three times a day! What sort of woman do you take me for, husband?" Her heart beat a little faster at the thought of being her husband's _only_ woman. According to Mama, even her father had a mistress or two earlier in their marriage. It was actually very common for men to flaunt their virility whilst the wife reserved herself only for her husband. Abbie couldn't help but wonder how long his decision would linger…

"I take you as being my wife," Ichabod finally replied, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Abbie pushed herself to sitting up, then gasped as she remembered her nakedness. She crossed one arm over her chest and used her other hand to hide the curls at her apex. For some reason it had become much brighter in the room, bright enough that her nakedness was now very obvious at any rate. Ichabod carefully took each of her wrists and removed the obstructions to his seeing her. Abbie held her breath as his eyes roamed over her at his leisure.

“A veritable Lady Godiva,” he murmured.

“Who?” Abbie asked.

Ichabod smiled shyly. “You may not be aware, probably because I hadn’t even told my uncle yet, but I am to start as the new history teacher at Merton College in the spring. I have always had a love of history… 

“Lady Godiva was the Countess of Mercia, in the year of our Lord, 1057. She and her husband were said to be very philophandric when they first accrued their wealth… Building abbeys, giving gold to goldsmiths, clothing to the poor… Our Lady, both gracious and kind, felt the town of Coventry as sorely lacking in the arts. She wondered if commissioning a portrait of herself would get the people of Coventry interested enough to flock to museums.”

“Did it work?” Abbie asked curiously. 

“We’ll never know,” Ichabod stated. “Because she realized it was because the people of Coventry were too heavily taxed and had to work long hours daily in order to pay the taxes, leaving no time for the enjoyment of art. The taxes which her husband was in charge of. She was furious upon learning her husband was taxing every little thing he could… he was even taxing manure. So she demanded he stop over-taxing the people.”

Abbie gasped. _A lady demanding her lord husband lower taxes_! Abbie was beginning to enjoy this tale. Ichabod's eyes continued to slowly drink in her nakedness, but she found she didn't mind. He licked his lips, then continued.

“She tirelessly pleaded with him to the point he grew weary of her and told her, if she rode through town naked, he would bow to her desires. What he hadn’t counted on was his tenacious wife to put out a proclamation to the town to draw their shutters on a certain day and to stay indoors so that she could remain chaste while she rode through town naked for them, in attendance by two of her ladies in waiting. Her husband was said to have kept good on his word and lowered the taxes.”

“Truly?” Abbie asked eagerly.

“There’s records for the region her husband, Count Leofric oversaw,” Ichabod said. “That after the supposed infamous ride, the only thing that was shown as being taxed was horses.”

Abbie sat up proudly, her chin in the air. “A lady after my own heart.” She shook her head. “But you’re distracting me. We shouldn’t waste this.”

Ichabod pretended to be clueless. “Waste what?”

Abbie narrowed her eyes and swirled her hips, feeling dark glee when he fell apart beneath her. “If you don’t know then perhaps I should stop,” she teased. 

“No,” Ichabod begged, his hands tight on her hips. “Please, don't.”

Abbie coked her head as she gazed down at him. “I like it when you say _please_ ,” she said. She rubbed against the tumescent flesh she sat on and her stomach jumped when it flexed against her. “Do it again.”

Ichabod was more than willing to oblige. “Wife,” he pleaded, “Please?”

Abbie rose to her knees as Ichabod aligned himself and she sank down with an exhaultant groan. His cock felt even larger than it had last night, if that were possible. Muscles she wasn’t used to using felt deliciously sore already but that would not stop her from chasing that miraculous sensation from last night.

Ichabod swallowed, his mouth and throat dry at the sight of such a vision being slowly impaled on his member. He was almost desperate to move but he was determined to go slow for his wife’s sake. 

_His wife_.

He glanced up and saw Abbie’s hands flutter with uncertainty around her neck and shoulders, as if she didn’t know what to do with them. “Touch yourself,” he rasped, shuddering as she sank down another inch. 

She stared at him, wide eyed for a moment and he worried he had gone too far. But then Abbie smiled shyly and let her fingers twitch across her breasts. She gasped softly and did it again, rocking against him, taking him deeper inside of her body. In that moment, Abbie had never felt so powerful - so in charge of her own pleasure, in charge of her husband’s pleasure. She knew she could draw this out as long as she wanted.

The trouble therein lied in that she didn’t _want_ to draw it out. She wanted every last bit of pleasure she could elicit from her husband’s cock and bounced downward, taking all of him to the hilt. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as she held herself down, slowly rotating her hips. “Oh my God,” she finally whimpered. 

Ichabod’s fingers tightened on her hips and she was vaguely aware of him gasping her name.

When Abbie looked down at his face, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was actually some sort of ancient deity learning about sex for the first time. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth as she grinned, a wicked gleam in her eyes. She threw her head back, moaning loudly as she began to rise and fall on his cock, her nipples rolling between her fingers. 

“ _Abbie_...”

She shivered at the sound of Ichabod groaning her name with such desperation. Abbie rode him hard and fast, chasing the pleasure of feeling him hit deep inside of her. She couldn't believe how much pleasure could come from this. It was more than just physical delight. There was pleasure to be had in gazing at her husband’s face, flushed red and his teeth were bared as if in torment. It was like he was some kind of angry and trapped animal, when she put her hands on his chest. She was sure his fingers would leave their marks on her hips as he whimpered her name.

“I beg of you, have mercy upon this mere mortal man,” Ichabod pleaded softly. The blabbering of a man too close to the edge but wanting to hold on...

Abbie paused her movements and grinned down at her husband. _Mercy_ , she wanted to ask. _Why should I have mercy when no one else has shown it to me_? “No,” she whispered in return then threw her head back to laugh as she became a woman possessed--grinding, rising, falling, taking every bit of pleasure she could from her husband. Her hands slithered down her body until she found the spot she knew would throw her over the edge and rubbed it furiously. She was only vaguely aware of her husband’s profuse swearing as he tried to hold her hips still without avail. 

Abbie rocked hard against him. His fingers fluttered to where they were joined and all at once it felt like her body surrendered to a fathomless void of delight. She wasn’t even aware of her husband sitting up to wrap his arms around her waist, baring her down on his lap as he all but exploded inside her. Abbie was sobbing when she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed all over his face, her hips still moving against him, wanting every last ounce of the heat that was pouring into her.

She whimpered as her back hit the mattress and her husband rutted against her, his face buried in the curve of her shoulder. Her thighs trembled, not knowing whether to squeeze her husband's hips or fall open so she could take him deeper inside. _Could she take him deeper_? Lord knows she wanted to...

Suddenly her husband’s head lifted and focused on something beyond the veil of their bed. Abbie looked as well only to see Bandy had waltzed right into the room without so much as a knock. Not long after, Danielle--panting and frustrated--scurried up behind him. Bandy didn’t say a word, just turned away, slack-jawed, and walked out.

“Apologizes, sir and madam, I tried to stop him,” she said with a quick curtsey and scurried back out, closing the door.

Ichabod and Abbie looked at each other, faces flushed from both embarrassment and the deeds they had just done. It was Abbie who first snorted with laughter, followed by a fit of giggles. Ichabod found he, too, couldn’t help but laugh. “I suppose that will teach him to not knock,” Abbie giggled.

“I suppose it will,” Ichabod replied. He looked down at her and smiled before he dropped down to kiss her deeply. Abbie broke off the kiss with a gasping groan when he resumed moving inside her. 

“ _Oh god_ ,” she wailed as the pleasure tightened within her yet again and she began to spiral upward and upward. Abbie’s hands slid down the muscled plane of Ichabod’s back and grasped his surprisingly full buttocks. It was as if she’d stoked a banked fire; he released a choked groan into the curve of her neck and began to piston his hips even faster, hitting a spot deep inside of her. “ _Oh god_ ,” she cried again. 

Ichabod rose to his knees and braced himself with one hand beside Abbie’s head and the other against the headboard. She looked up at him, swept away by the enamored, lust-filled gaze directed at her - at her! Abbie felt that touch of power again, knowing she was the reason he acted like this. 

He swirled his hips and Abbie arched up and babbled, “Oh god, _right there_!”

Ichabod repeated the movement, eyes wide as she began to thrash. “Does that feel good?” he asked in a sinful baritone.

Abbie shivered. “Yes,” she groaned. “You’re so thick and hard I can barely handle it. I need you to stop but I’ll die if you do!”

Ichabod nearly growled as he pulled himself from her body. Just as Abbie lifted her head to object, he flipped her over and filled his palms with her glorious backside before spreading her and sliding back in, to the hilt with one stroke. 

His eyes almost rolled up into his head at the overwhelming sensation of moist heat practically clinging to his cock when he pulled out and the nearly frictionless glide when he pushed back in. Abbie screamed into the pillow, and Ichabod could feel a fine tremble in both her legs.

“Husband, please, do you seek to kill me?” Abbie wailed, the pillow fisted in each of her hands as she threw her hips back into his stroke, maximizing the sensation for the both of them. She could feel her posterior literally bounce as they fucked like animals. Abbie couldn’t even bring herself to care how she looked at the moment, or if the guttural groans coming from her throat were ladylike. None of it mattered. 

Ichabod shuddered and braced himself with both hands against the headboard, sweaty, lightheaded, and gasping for breath. He just needed a moment before - 

“No,” Abbie whined. Icahbod’s new position made it difficult to keep up her same movement. She rose to her knees as well, and grabbed onto his arms and began to move herself on his cock, widening her legs so she could utilize her tendency to bounce to take the burn off of her thighs as she sped up.

“Selfish girl,” Ichabod groaned. He pulled her tightly against his chest, one hand flat against her breast bone as he began to thrust into her with renewed vigor. “You want all of it my love?” When she merely whimpered he found the wherewithal to stop. Abbie cried out and tried to move but Ichabod stayed her hips with an arm. “You haven’t said yes, so you must wish me to stop.”

“Yes,” Abbie sobbed. “Please, Ichabod… please… don’t stop...”

He cupped her chin and brushed his lips against her jaw. "Tell me what you want, Abbie," he murmured softly, gently thrusting into his wife. "Tell me what you _need_."

Abbie rested her hand on the arm around her waist. "You," she replied, her voice trembling. "I want… I need… you…"

Ichabod's heart was filled to the brim. Never before had someone confessed to wanting and needing him. At best he had thought she would say she needed to find release or that she wanted his cock, something lust fueled and easy to give…

“Husband…” Abbie whimpered. “ _Please_...”

His hips snapped forward. Abbie keened and Ichabod found release as her walls pulsed around him. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way, basking in the aftermath of their love making, too fulfilled to do anything but fight to catch their breaths. After a moment, Abbie’s head fell forward and Ichabod placed a gentle kiss between her shoulders as he lowered her to the mattress then lay beside her, holding her close.

Abbie rolled over and huddled against his chest, her toes wedging between his legs.

“Are you alright?” Ichabod asked quietly.

“Mmhmm,” Abbie murmured, nodding. She grasped his arm with one hand. “Don’t go just yet… please? Wait until I fall asleep…”

“That's what I had planned to do,” Ichabod replied, then kissed the top of her head.

Abbie hummed appreciatively and snuggled deeper into his arms. Ichabod knew, without a doubt, giving himself to Abbie would by far be one of the easiest things he would ever do.


	8. A Woman of Pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the wedding night.

Bandy tapped the bookcase as he stared vacantly at the worn tomes, determined not to think about what he had walked in on almost half an hour earlier. The brief conversation with Miss Danielle hadn't exactly helped put his mind at ease either. Instead, he focused on the memory of the cherubic face of his nephew as a toddler, still clad in his childhood gown, chubby little fingers reaching up to him as he shrieked _Banny_. 

Bandy had always had a soft spot for children and women alike. He never missed a chance to scoop up a willing baby and hug them. He remembered constantly carrying Ichabod on his hip and the occasional gruff from Nebuchadnezzar that he was going to spoil the child if he didn't stop carrying him everywhere.

It was always a rare treat to see his nephew in those days. Lilian and Meshach hardly brought Ichabod to _Taighcrann_ , the memories of how Neb treated them still fresh in their minds. It wasn't until his own Uncle Eustace passed away and left him Oak Post that Bandy got to see his nephew more frequently.

He had been gutted the day Meshach and Lilian decided to move to America. But he had understood. They were terrified that if they remained in London, Nebuchadnezzar would insist on taking over the rearing of Ichabod, thus turning him into a carbon copy of himself. Of course, they told everyone that the reason had been to get medical assistance for Lilian, having heard the native people had secrets modern medicine didn't.

But Bandy knew, and couldn’t - wouldn’t - begrudge his brother and sister-in-law a chance at happiness. If he had more brains than loyalty he would’ve been right next to him on that boat with his back to England and Nebuchadnezzar Crane. 

Alas, that wasn’t Bandy’s destiny. When he thought upon Eustace he couldn’t feel too melancholy for his own affairs. If Bandy had gone elsewhere Eustace would not exist, and that was unthinkable.

The doors to the study are thrown open, and if Bandy hadn’t been present for Nebuchadnezzar’s funeral, he would’ve thought the man returned to life, young and full of vim and vigor. “About time,” he said, and the apparition blinked so much like Nebuchadnezzar that Bandy’s heart stuttered and he feared a vicious back hand.

“What did you expect, Uncle?” Ichabod asked irritably. “You didn’t exactly let me know you were coming, or we would’ve been prepared to receive you.”

"I told you yesterday I would come by this morning," Bandy said, visibly bristling as he tried to tramp down his trained response to ire from _that face_.

"Aye," Ichabod said, nodding. "I thought, perhaps you meant at an hour where it's appropriate to call upon another. I would ask if you would like a drink but I see you've already helped yourself."

Bandy sighed heavily and looked at the empty glasses on the desk. "I was concerned." Ichabod cocked his head slightly and blinked slowly. "After the way things ended with Betsy, I was concerned about Abbie's safety. Your former wife was very vocal with the locals concerning your marital duties."

"She lied," Ichabod shrugged. "She was trying to get permission to divorce me. So, of course, she spread lies to get pity." He scowled and walked over to plop down in a seat. "You know that. She said so herself."

"Yes, but I also know women will say anything to keep themselves safe and sound," Bandy groused. "Your grandmother would always say she was fine. She was seldom fine."

"I assure you, Uncle, my wife--" Bandy cocked a brow when Ichabod's chest puffed out "--and I were both willing participants in the ongoings of last night and this morning. I would never do anything to bring her harm."

Bandy rolled his eyes but shook his head. "You look good. I can already tell that this marriage suits you, nephew. Just don't muck it up this time, would ya?"

"My wife and I have plans to take our vows very seriously," Ichabod preened.

“My wife, my wife,” Bandy grumbled. 

Ichabod merely looked at his uncle. “You pretend to be so sour, but I can see your smile from here,” Ichabod said. "What has you in such a good mood?"

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m off, I’m due at the Mills residence for tea,” Bandy said haughtily. “Be sure to feed that poor girl; we Crane men tend to be single-minded in the bedroom.”

“Oh dear god,” Ichabod groaned as his face heated in embarrassment. “Why?”

“Turnabout is fair nephew,” Bandy called over his shoulder. 

"You're the one that didn't knock," Ichabod fired back.

Bandy made a mocking sound then said, "Oh, and I will be working with Miss Danielle to get _Taighcrann_ fully and properly staffed. Poor girl is overwhelmed and too soft-hearted to be the permanent Housekeeper. So she may be going to Rose Manor later than you and _your wife_."

Before Ichabod could say anything else, the doors to the study closed behind his uncle.

  
~*~  


Abbie smiled at Danielle, from the protective veil of blankets, as she opened the curtains to let the sunlight in. "You're always so thoughtful madam," Danielle preened, pausing at the seat she had laid her clothes over the night before. "Your sister used to scatter her clothes about, leaving them everywhere… Are you ready to get dressed for the day or do you want to take your breakfast in bed?"

"I'll take it abed," Abbie sighed happily. She stretched and twisted then yelped as she felt a twinge in a place she hadn't been aware could even twinge like that. 

She caught the bemused glimmer in Danielle's eyes. "Are you alright, madam?"

Abbie nodded gently. "I would like to thank you for your counsel yesterday. It was… most beneficial."

"You're welcome," Danielle chuckled. "I'll go fetch your breakfast." With a small curtsey, Danielle excused herself.

Abbie pursed her lips and shifted uncomfortably before flinging the blankets off. Good heavens! She had thought Danielle would never leave! Now she could resume what she had been doing prior to Danielle's dainty knock on the door.

Settling back against the pillows, Abbie closed her eyes and let her hand slip between her legs, sighing happily. Her other hand busied itself with her breasts, rubbing and pinching her nipples until they were hardened peaks. A soft moan came from deep inside of her chest as her fingers glided effortlessly in and out of her body.

While she much preferred someone else to see to this particular task, Abbie had awoken alone in bed, wanting her husband. As he wasn't available, she would have to see to it herself!

It wasn't until her finger brushed her clit that Abbie felt a jolt of arousal course through her body. She hummed and began to gently massage the sensitive nub. Her hum became a moan, her moan became a whimper, the whimper became her husband's name over and over again.

What she hadn't expected was his low, rumbled voice saying, "Yes?" Abbie gasped and looked to the foot of the bed. Sure enough, there stood her husband, pulling his shirt up and over his head. Her hands paused as her face burned. "Don't stop on my account, wife… I was enjoying watching you."

"You're much better at it," Abbie blurted, her face on fire. "But we've already performed our duties twice..." She focused on his hands, unbuttoning his trousers.

"Would you be opposed to a third time?" Ichabod asked, climbing onto the bed.

"Absolutely not!" Abbie bit her bottom lip as her husband clamored on top of her. She fidgeted restlessly as his gaze roamed down her body. "Ichabod…"

A small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as his hand drifted down her belly and between her thighs. Abbie gasped softly as he pushed two fingers inside of her then slowly pulled them out. "How very thoughtful of you, you've already gotten yourself ready for me," he murmured. He dragged his tongue along the back of his fingers then licked his lips. "I want to taste you, my love…"

"You just did," Abbie whimpered.

"I want a better taste," Ichabod commented.

"I wasn't aware men _did_ that," Abbie murmured. "At least, that's what I've been told…"

"Whomever said that was very misinformed," Ichabod chuckled.

"Then proceed," Abbie breathed. "Teach me otherwise…"

Abbie reasoned that she could very much grow accustomed to that wicked glimmer in her husband's eyes as he lowered his face between her thighs. Her heart flipped and fluttered with anticipation as he slowly dragged his tongue between her folds, lapping at her core. He pulled back and licked his lips. "Positively divine," he muttered.

Part of her wanted to ask if that was the best he could do, but the way he was watching her face told Abbie that he was merely toying with her emotions. He lowered his face back between her legs. He gave her centre a slow, languid lap then closed his lips over her clit, sucking deeply as he groaned. Oh yes, he had definitely been toying with her. Abbie threw her head back and moaned softly.

Her hand rested on his hair, curling into the silken strands as he kissed her most intimate flesh as though it were her mouth. "Ichabod," she softly moaned. "Stop teasing…"

She heard him cackle quietly then say, "No."

Abbie was aghast. How dare he! Couldn't he tell she was already aching for release? Then again… she had done the same to him the night before when he begged for mercy. 

His tongue began to move faster, sucking at her clit longer and firmer, and when he groaned against it Abbie felt like her entire being was vibrating. She nearly came undone when he made a growling noise and began feasting himself upon her core. Instead, she gripped his hair and yanked hard as her body arched under his ardent attention.

"Ichabod!" Abbie pleaded. "Husband… _Please_ , Ichabod… you've made your point…"

While Abbie felt he had made his point, it was evident he didn't feel he had been clear enough. He wrapped his arms under her thighs and hiked them onto his shoulders, rubbing his face against her. Abbie panted desperately for breath, her fists flying to her pillow to grip it, from fear she would render her husband bald.

Her breath soon caught in her throat and she felt her soul vacate her body as she met release on her husband's talented tongue. She had thought him done with her. But, _alas_ , that was not to be her fate. He clamoured onto his knees, unfastened his trousers, and pushed them down his thighs.

Abbie held her breath as he drew her ankles up to his shoulders and positioned himself. She shivered as she felt him slide home with ease. When he began to move, her eyes rolled back and a most unladylike giggle rippled from between her lips.

"Oh yes, Abbie," Ichabod growled, bracing himself over her, urging her knees toward her chest as he glided in and out of her with effortless ease.

Abbie couldn't say anything, her voice was lost. She couldn't even breathe. It felt so good she couldn't do so many things she had always thought to be a requirement for survival. However, it seemed all she needed was Ichabod, slamming his cock into her core in a steady and timeless rhythm.

Her walls contracted around him, but she was so wet it did nothing to thwart her husband's efforts. One of her hands flew to her mouth and she bit down on her knuckle to keep from crying out. Ichabod made a soft _tut tut tut_ and pulled her hand away, pinning it to the back of her knee with his own hand.

"I want to hear you," he rasped. "I want to hear every little sound you make…"

Abbie bit her bottom lip, shaking her head as she fought against the inevitable conclusion that she would be screaming her husband's name. He was just _so big_ and the friction just felt _so good_. Her body jerked when he pressed deep, grinding his pelvis against hers. She couldn't hold it back any more…

" _Fuck_ ," she shrieked, coming undone on his cock. He groaned and she could feel him pulsing inside of her. She swore she could feel the heat of his issue filling her and spilling out of her body.

Ichabod let her legs fall to his sides and softly kissed her. Abbie moaned contentedly. “Did that scratch your itch?” he murmured. 

“As if you don’t know,” Abbie said as she tried to fight her smile.

"I wouldn't dare assume," Ichabod replied, grinning.

Abbie slowly blinked up at him, letting her smile alight her face. "Yes," she said with a serious tone. "At least until tonight."

"Then I shall have Danielle bring your breakfast," Ichabod said. "I received more of my books from America yesterday. When and if you're feeling able, we could work together to get them on the shelves in the study."

"And we could determine which to take with us on our journey to Rose Manor," Abbie suggested. 

"I adore the way you think, wife," Ichabod said, tilting his forehead against hers. When his hips shifted, Abbie gasped softly. His brows arched and he made a curious sound. It appeared he was still hard as a rock… Ichabod braced himself on his hands and moved his hips again, his eyes almost rolling up in his head as the pleasure spread through his body. 

“Oh god,” Abbie moaned. “How…”

Ichabod’s face dropped to her chest as he began moving slowly, but in earnest. “It seems I am not done with you yet, wife,” he groaned as he pistoned his hips. “Forgive me,” he rumbled, mouthing wet kisses against her skin before he moved to capture a nipple that bounced tantalizingly close to him.

"Never," Abbie groaned.

It seemed breakfast would have to wait.

  
~*~  


Bandy had never truly been one for social graces. His brothers had been much better at it than he. Shadrach could charm the knickers off a nun in his heyday. Meshach had been cheerfully flamboyant and always attracted attention. Bandy had always preferred to stand awkwardly in a corner.

He had gotten better at it, over the years, but it was still far from his best life skill. It hadn't been until his eldest brother had started courting a lovely and charming black woman that Bandy had started coming out of his shell.

Lori Roberts had been the first woman to ever treat him with something other than complete disdain. It was no wonder his brother had fallen head over heels for her. Had he been a few years older, oh he may have had a chance, maybe. 

Not really but it did always suit him to pretend it was true. He could remember when Miss Lori had been the star of the court. There hadn’t been a gentleman of marrying age that _hadn’t_ fancied he might have a chance with her. Something her daughters had inherited, it seemed.

Miss Lori had never ignored him or given him annoyed sighs when he galloped along behind his oldest brother, acting as a chaperone. A chaperone that was easily bribed with sweets if he would "kindly shove off for fifteen minutes."

_"Don't be rude, Shade," Miss Lori would scold. "He's just trying to protect my virtue… something you should be concerned about might I add…"_

She would always ruffle his hair and tweak his nose, calling him adorable and sweet. She always called him _my little Bandicoot_ , hence how he garnered the nickname Bandy. He had been looking forward to having a sister like Lori. But then Neb had finally _met_ Miss Lori and put an end to the courtship immediately. He hadn’t even waited for her to be properly out the door before going into a tirade about how _no son of his would be marrying a black woman_.

Similarly, her parents had forbidden any further courtship as well. But the joke was on Nebuchadnezzar. Shadrach hadn’t been his son, a detail he wouldn’t find out many years later..

Bandy had been as heartbroken as Shadrach and thought he would never see her again.

So it was some surprise that she was seated across from him, next to her husband, giving him that same old smile she would always give him. And he was just as awkward and flustered about it now, as a fully grown, adult person.

Ezra didn't seem at all keen on their familiarity.

Luckily Lori's younger daughter, son-in-law, and their four children were visiting as well, and managed to save Bandy from making a complete fool of himself. Mostly because he couldn't stop grinning at their boisterous energy as they ran around squealing and bopping each other with their dolls.

_All girls_ , the whole lot of them. Well, the three oldest ones. The toddler was still in dresses and they hadn't indicated whether the child was a boy or girl, therefore Bandy knew it was none of his business.

"Forgive my grandchildren, they don't get to visit often and they get excited to see their grandmother," Lori chuckled.

"Oh, they're children, it's to be expected," Bandy gushed. His own son, probably only a few years older than the eldest girl, was clearly displeased with the noise and the racket.

"Joseph and I are trying this new technique in child rearing," Jenny preened. "Letting the children learn on their own terms on how to behave properly, without sending them away. Supposedly it makes them more independent, smarter, and strengthens the bonds between the children and parents."

Bandy glanced at Joseph. The lad had a vacant smile on his face as he stared into space, having clearly taken himself somewhere there was not squealing children running everywhere. He shook his head to clear it when Jenny mentioned his name. "They're usually much better than this…"

Judging by Joseph's tone, they were not in fact usually better than they currently were. Bandy loved it. He looked over at his own son. "Don't be so sour faced, Eustace. I'm sure you were like that before coming to live with me," he said.

"Mum said I was born with an old soul," Eustace drawled. He stared at the eldest girl as she slowed down in front of him. After a moment, he scowled. "What?"

"What ya doin'," the girl asked, sliding into the sofa next to him. Eustace looked panicked and scooted away quickly, only to be followed across the sofa.

Bandy looked back at Ezra, grinning. "I love childish energy," he beamed. "But returning to your question, I have an associate I would like you to meet. He should be at port in a couple days. I would like to recommend him and his fleet for your future shipping endeavours.

"I planned to see if he could personally escort the newlyweds to Edinburgh and back on his ship," Bandy explained. "He's enrolling his eldest son in Oxford here in London and his two youngest boys in primary school in Edinburgh this year and I always let him stay at _Crann a Tuath_ so he's trustworthy."

"Oh, he must have a large family," Lori said. She smiled wistfully as she watched the toddler wriggle out of mum's lap and give chase to their sisters. "Such a blessing…"

"Nine children," Bandy chuckled. "They planned to stop when the Lord gave them a girl. They had one just before his wife's fertile years ended. She starts her education next year."

Lori gazed at her husband affectionately. "We had planned to stop when we had a son but… the Lord had other plans for us."

"Darling, isn't that a little private for guest conversation," Ezra muttered.

Lori patted his hand. "Bandy is _family_ , Ezra," she said. "If not before then he certainly is now that his nephew is our son-in-law."

Ezra sighed patiently. "A couple days, you say?"

Bandy nodded. "Aye. The _Lorelei_ is his finest ship." 

Lori's face lit up, as Lorelei was her given name but her closest friends called her Lori. "Beautiful name for a ship."

"He named it after his first love," Bandy said with a slight smile. "So, I suppose I'll call again in a couple days when Captain Acheampong and his family come in. Or perhaps I could send Oswald over and you and Miss Lori can come to Oak Post."

"Oh, I would love to see Oak Post again after all these years," Lori preened. She beamed at her husband. "With a wife and children in tow, it would probably be more suitable for us to come to him, wouldn't you agree Ezra?"

Ezra nodded as he frowned. "You're right."

"It's settled then," Bandy nodded. "When they get in, I'll send my messenger over. I suppose I should leave you to your family, Ezra." He turned toward Eustace, who now looked incredibly uncomfortable with the fact that the eldest girl sat right next to him, and pointedly asked about his book. "Bid your new friend farewell, Eustace, time to go."

The boy muttered a quick goodbye then bolted for the door. Lori laughed hard, her hand over her heart. "Oh goodness… he's just like you."

"Unfortunately," Bandy sighed. He bid the children, the Corbins, and of course Ezra and Lori farewell and stepped out of the sitting room. Eustace waited by the entry door with Oswald. "Ready, lads?" 

"She's not my friend," Eustace huffed indignantly. "I've just met her and she plopped herself down next to me."

"Calm down, boy, it's not like I'm arranging a marriage," Bandy said, rubbing Eustace's head. 

"Never know with you, these days," Eustace said with a disarming grin so much like his mother's that Bandy was taken aback.

Bandy shook his head. "Don't tempt me, lad."

And with that, Eustace started regaling Oswald with the on-goings of the call and his book. Oswald was so engrossed in the conversation that he neglected all of his duties from getting the entry door to opening the carriage door. But Bandy couldn’t bring himself to mind; he was a similar age to Eustace. 

He'd rather his son and Oswald enjoy their childhoods than scold the butler-in-training for neglecting his duties. And if he knew one thing, having a friendship with your butler could lead to fantastic things.

After all, it had led to him having Eustace. 

While he wouldn't change the fact he had Eustace, the boy had been born of an indiscretion between him and the daughter of Nebuchadnezzar's butler. Bandy hadn't even known about him until a few years ago because his wife had paid the girl a hefty severance to make herself scarce. 

Eustace had been the only one in his family to survive a fever and been shipped off to an orphanage. Of all the things Bandy's departed wife could have done, she had given him a letter on her deathbed bed, detailing the withdrawal of Eustace's mother from his affections. 

To make it even worse, Nebuchadnezzar had been aware of Eustace's existence and gone as far as to include him in his last will. _In the event my heir, Ichabod Crane, is unable to meet the criteria for inheriting, it shall be bestowed to my grand-nephew Eustace Xavier Crane the Second with no restrictions._

Neb must have thought it would rub Bandy and Mess all sorts of wrong ways. But, to be honest, Mess had a lover in the royal courts that had set him up quite handily and had zero interest in the Crane fortune. Bandy, under the impression Shadrach was killed in the jungles of Africa, had been named the primary beneficiary to his late uncle's estate.

It was also through Nebuchadnezzar's will Bandy had learned the reason why his sons had been neglected in the inheritance. It was because they weren't _his_ sons. All three of them had been sired by the man they had believed to be their uncle. There was a very valid reason as to why Ichabod resembled the late Nebuchadnezzar Crane. It was because Ichabod had been sired by Nebuchadnezzar, rather than Meshach. 

Of course, Bandy had made sure to disclose the entirety of their cocked up family history to Ezra. As it stood, no more than four men - one being the family solicitor, no less - knew the exact truth. Even Ichabod was spared, although the truth would probably come to light when Ichabod officially received his inheritance.

Bandy would also have to let Ichabod know the truth about the man he thought was his father. Although it should have been painfully obvious, given the amount of good-looking lads Mess always kept around, apparently Ichabod had never put two and two together. Then again, Ichabod had always had the issue of not being able to see the forest for the trees.

  
~*~  


Andrew knocked everything off his table. "What do you _mean_ there's nothing you can do about it?" he bellowed, enraged.

The gnarled pirate sitting across from him shook his head and laughed bitterly. Watching Soo’s boy pomp and flail like a spoiled child was truly amusing and a gift Moloch hadn’t been aware he needed in his life. "I told ya. Nothing we can do," he muttered. "Maybe if your ma had brought you up on the ships like a good profiteer, you'd know that and you'd know why."

Andrew strode over to the table and stared down at Moloch. "I'm paying you to attack these ships.”

“No,” Moloch corrected. “You paid for us to sack his _previous_ ships.”

Andrew sputtered. “The point?”

“These are _different_ ships.”

“I don’t care! I’ve paid!”

“Ain't enough gold on the planet to have me or any of my crew go after one of Captain Acheampong's ships, much less three of them." Moloch snorted and pushed the bag of gold across the table at Andrew. 

"I doubt anyone else will either. They'd be a fool if they did. Acheampong is the reason half the pirates lived to become pirates… people tend to remember the folk that free them from bondage and stay loyal to them."

Andrew glared down at him with ill-concealed condescension. “Loyalty? People are loyal to money, Moloch, or do you forget the payday when you sacked those ships? Don’t pretend there is any honor amongst thieves,” he sneered. 

“Yeah,” Moloch agreed. “There ain’t much honor among my kind, but we do have standards. Another thing your ma didn't teach you. We had a good run with the Mills ships and now it's time to move on. You keep hitting the same people and the same routes you find your fortune quick turns to ruin.”

Perhaps that would help sink it into the boy’s thick skull. Acheampong wouldn’t attack his fellow looters unless they came for him first, that much was true. But _The Lorelei_ was armed to the teeth. Bought with the money of a rich merchant and commandeered to serve the higher purpose of freeing those unfortunate enough to be caught by a slaver’s net. So if someone came for them, the ship would be ready. And it was crewed by the cleverest and fiercest bunch Moloch had ever seen.

He narrowed his one eye at Andrew. His other eye had been plucked out decades ago by the Missus of Captain Acheampong. So he knew first hand how scrappy that lot could be. "What you got for this Mills fellow for anyway?"

“We’re finished,” Andrew announced. “So I don’t see how that’s your concern.”

“Not before your last payment, _your lordship_ , as was promised for the last two Mills hits. Not to mention I will need to be convinced to hold my tongue about your ploys,” Moloch fired back. “You’ll find me a bit more difficult to charm than your peers, I assure you of that. I don’t buy into your temper tantrums and childish displays like yer mam and pops did or fake smiles like the ladies.”

Andrew’s eyes never left the pirate’s face as he pulled the bag of coins as well as another from his coat and threw them on the table between them. “That should cover what I owe and make you forget you have a tongue.”

Moloch smiled jovally as he loosened the bag and revealed the glint of gold. “ _Now_ we’re finished,” he agreed. “Evening, your lordship.”

  
~*~  


To say Bandy’s suggestion that Danielle was overwhelmed as the new Housekeeper of _Taighcrann_ was accurate would be an understatement.

Ichabod just happened to overhear she was in the middle of trying to get a laundry debacle sorted when he heard her lament the bell at the entry. Why Bandy hadn’t seen it fit to arrange an entire crew would have been questionable at best. Then again, they _were_ due to leave soon for Scotland soon. Perhaps Bandy was waiting until they were gone to get the rest of the crew filled out.

"I'll see to it," he said to the flushed faced woman when he met her in the hallway. While he had been staying with his uncle, Ichabod had grown accustomed to getting the door and entertaining the occasional guest. Oswald hadn’t been the best of butlers but Bandy had always insisted the lad was still learning and to go easy.

She gave him a curtsey. "Thank you, sir. And I'll see to getting a butler hired by the end of the day if that’s alright. Mister Bandy had mentioned that could be part of my duties."

“By all means.” Ichabod nodded as she hurried away. He wondered when his uncle had spoken to the young woman but turned to see to his task instead of lingering upon it. When he opened the door, he was greeted by three of the sourest faces he had ever seen. The Queen's Guard had arrived at _Taighcrann_. "Sorry for keeping you waiting, ladies, we haven't yet hired a butler."

Mary stepped forward, nose jutted into the air. "When Abbie didn’t send for us yesterday, we started to worry you had forbidden us from calling," she said sharply. 

Ichabod stepped aside and waved his hand onward to permit them entry. "I would never."

"Good," Zoe huffed.

"Not that doing so would keep us away," Katrina added, brandishing her fan to cool her face.

“The house is not exactly up to par for receiving guests just yet. Perhaps she intended to wait for our return from Scotland,” Ichabod suggested.

The three turned on their heels and pinned him with unimpressed glares.

"Surely Abbie would anticipate our wanting to see to the well-being of our dearest friend," Mary said. "After being strong armed into a marriage to a man she just met."

"Where is she?" Zoe demanded.

"I imagine she's still in bed, ladies," Ichabod stated, unable to keep the half smirk from appearing on his face. He honestly couldn’t help it. Honesty was one of his most prized traits. "She was quite exhausted when I went to the study to arrange our books."

All three scoffed and rolled their eyes. 

"And where might that bed _be_ ," Katrina groused.

"In our bedchambers, naturally," Ichabod retorted brightly. Another trio of eye rolling and scoffs. He pointed down the hallway. "Down the hallway, last door on the left. Although we will be moving to the larger bedchamber on the second floor once we've enough staff to maintain the entire estate."

"Thank you," the three women snapped, then hiked up their skirts to storm down the hallway as if they were three hungry witches in search of a child to eat.

Ichabod shook his head and returned to the study. He hoped Abbie had managed to get her shift on by now or at least didn't mind her friends seeing her naked. Although, having already heard some of the tales she had about her friends, he was fairly certain they wouldn’t mind at all.

He felt a stirring in his lions at the thought of his wife naked and writhing beneath him. Clearing his throat he focused on books. Books were amazing. Books were great. His wife could use some time with her friends and books needed arranging…

  
~*~  


Abbie had, in fact, managed to get her shift on. Not willingly but, once her husband vacated the bed, the first signs of autumn had trickled into the bedroom and she needed its extra warmth.

Once adorned, she stretched her arms over her head and laid back on the multitude of pillows she had at her disposal. She sighed happily as she watched a bird perch itself in the window and chirp cheerfully. The scent of wisteria floated in from the gardens. It was like a very pleasant dream that she never wanted to wake up from.

Abbie giggled to herself and kicked her feet eagerly. This, it seemed, was a bad idea as she felt a sudden cramp in the pit of her belly. She winced and pouted, hoping it was her body warning her of impending moontides and _not_ a side effect of her husband's ardent attention. That would prove most inconvenient. 

Almost immediately the door to the bedroom was thrust open. Abbie jumped in surprise then flopped over onto her side and groaned as she realized, it was in fact due to her husband that she was having such an ache.

"Oh no," Katrina's soft voice proclaimed dramatically. "Look what he's done to our darling friend." Within a moment Katrina was pulling Abbie into her arms, cradling her and stroking her face. "Abigail, my dearest, has he done you wrong? Blink twice if we need to arrange for him to have a most unfortunate hunting accident. We know your sister would gladly help."

Her other two friends clamoured onto the bed. Zoe pulled Abbie's bare feet into her lap while Mary took her hand and patted it soothingly. It was good to know nothing about her dearest friends would ever change.

"Rather the opposite, to be honest," Abbie pouted. "My husband treated me so well that my body aches… not for him necessarily but just… I ache in places I didn't know I could ache."

Katrina made a disgusted sound and playfully dumped Abbie out of her embrace. Abbie giggled fitfully and managed to climb back to her pillows to lay down. She smiled at her friends and felt a wave of affection for them. 

"It's well after lunch, you shouldn't still be in bed," Mary huffed.

"Is it? I've only just finished breakfast," Abbie commented, sweeping her hand toward the tray on the bedside table. She held herself up properly, nose tilted in the air. "So tell me, ladies, do I look any different? Do I seem any different?"

Zoe flopped down on the bed. "No, should you?" Her brows arched with interest. "This bed is luxurious…"

"We were concerned for you, Abbie," Katrina wailed. "You know well enough of Old Nebuchadnezzar's reputation at court. We feared your husband would be the same. And you are acting as though you are a lady of pleasure rather than a woman we care for and worry over..."

Abbie couldn't stop the slow grin that overtook her face. "Well, isn't it a lady's job to provide her husband with sons and daughters? Can I be faulted for enjoying my husband's…" Her face burned as she almost said _cock_. "Affections."

"He's the very image of the old coot," Mary said briskly, after a moment. She reached over to give Katrina’s hand a soothing pat. "So you can imagine why everyone was thinking he would be the same in personality as well."

"Mary!" Zoe gasped. "You don't speak ill of the dead."

Mary cocked a brow. "I will speak ill of whomever, whenever I please. I dare his ghost attempt to haunt me for having the audacity to not be afraid of a man that's been dead for nearly a decade. He was absolutely reviled. Everyone knows that so it’s not like it’s a big secret."

"Can we please speak of more joyful things," Abbie pouted. 

To be fair, she had all but forgotten the reputation of the late elder Crane. She could recall a tale or two of how, even as an old man, people dared not call him anything other than _Mr. Crane_ or _Nebuchadnezzar_ if you were friendly enough with him. And Lord forbid it if you were in debt to him. He was said to be a vicious businessman who was not above cracking a knee to get his dues.

Abbie felt her heart drop. _Was Ichabod like that_? He didn't seem that way. Then again, she barely knew him. It seemed so strange that they hadn't even known each other for two weeks and they were already married and had been _very_ intimate several times. 

She shifted uncomfortably. This time, while aching with discomfort, her body was suddenly aching in another way. Her head was flooded with the image of Ichabod's flushed and anguished face as she had been bouncing on his lap, taking his manhood deep inside of her. Warmth crept to her cheeks as she rubbed the back of her neck and prayed to God none of her friends were mindreaders.

"Well, I suppose I should need your advice and wisdom in six months' time as I too will be a married woman," Mary announced. “You do seem to have settled quite easily into your womanly role in marriage so perhaps I too could learn how to become a woman of leisure."

"What? You’re getting married?" Abbie squeaked. "Since when? To whom? Why didn't you say anything yesterday?"

"It only happened yesterday afternoon," Mary shrugged. "It seems the young Mister van Brunt had decided to read a book and become a reformed man after you refused to marry him."

" _What_ ," Katrina gawked.

"Ew," Zoe scoffed. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

Mary shrugged indifferently. "He said he needed a wife that could make certain he could stay reformed. I told him, under no circumstances would I play mother hen to him; that it was up to him to keep himself straight and keep his mistresses cared for. But if he did backslide, he could be assured it would be dealt with immediately and without hesitation."

"You'd divorce him over one slight?" Katrina asked.

Mary scoffed. "No, of course not. I'd poison him," she said. " _Obviously_. No husband of mine would dare leave his mistresses unkempt without being punished. And then I would move the dears into our estate and we would all live a life of ease."

"Excellent choice," Zoe said, nodding. "A grieving widow is much more acceptable than a divorcee."

There was a soft knock at the door and Danielle entered, beaming brightly. "Pardon the intrusion, ladies, but Mister Crane would like to ask if you would be joining us for tea in the study."

“Taking time to know him is a good way to determine if he is like his grandfather,” Abbie said, giving each of her friends a pointed look.

“Very well,” Mary hummed. “But only because you have a very valid point and it doesn’t seem you’re intent on being a professional widow as I am.”

Abbie smothered a laugh with a cough. “Oh, Mary,” she murmurs. “I look forward to attending your husband’s funeral by your side.”

Mary preened. “Abbie, my love, you say the sweetest things.”


End file.
